Ultimate Betrayal
by VegetaCold
Summary: When Danny entrusts his secret with his parents, he is cast out, unwanted. With no where else to go, he turns to Vlad for help. Does not contain yaoi, however has been rated "T" for violence and language.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note:

Well, I was reading through some of my old fanfictions and I found this story. I had started writing the chapter but never finished it. Seeing as I'm getting tired of writing fanfictions for Dragonball Z, I thought I might continue it.

Summary: Danny reveals his secret to his parents and is met with their ultimate betrayal. With no one else to turn to, he looks to Vlad for help. I have rated this story "T" for violence and possible language.

Please read this first chapter and let me know what you think. I always appreciate reviews because they let me know what I'm doing right/wrong, which I can take and apply to future chapters in order to improve the story. I also like to know if people are interested in reading further, so if you would like me to continue, please let me know. I often don't continue fanfictions if I don't get feedback because it leaves me with the impression that no one is interested in reading further, so please let me know.

Thank you, and enjoy ~VC

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><p>Danny Fenton had never thought himself to be lucky. In fact, he thought himself to be just the opposite. He was one of the nerds at school, the person who got shoved into the dumpster when one of the jocks needed to boost their self-esteem. None of the girls would even spare him a passing glance, especially not Paulina. Almost every test he brought home was stamped with a big red "F", and almost every week his parents lectured him about the importance of staying in school when they received another call saying he skipped first period. And then there were the ghosts.<p>

Being a halfa was not the easy task. He found that ghosts were almost constantly attacking his home, reigning terror over Amity Park. And he was, in all reality, the only person who could stop them. His parents, though they meant well, had only ever humiliated him and made things worse at the same time. None of the other ghost hunters who claimed to be so good at their job provided any assistance whatsoever, and many times they would try to take him down as well. So it was pretty much up to him.

He would fight those ghosts, one by one, sending them back into the Ghost Zone with his sparkling thermos. And he would come back from each fight broken, battered, and exhausted. Often, he would return to his parent's ghost hunting fortress covered in blood and scratches and bruises. And just when he would think he could lie down and go to sleep and recuperate, another ghost would fly past his window in an almost comical fashion, laughing the maniacal laugh that had cemented itself into his mind. There was no mistaking a ghost's laugh; he knew it too well.

He got little sleep because of all of this, which in turn would lead to him sleeping during the time he was supposed to be studying for the test, thus leading him to fail it. When ghosts would invade the town during school hours, he would have to skip classes just so he could fight them, which would lead to the phone calls from the school and the lectures from his parents. It was like a vicious circle: fight the ghosts, lose sleep, fail school, fight the ghosts, lose sleep, fail school.

Yes, Danny knew he was quite the unlucky teen. And just when he thought it couldn't get any worse, it did. It was far worse than he could ever have imagined, far worse than he could ever have dreamed. Being a loser, being stupid, as he liked to call himself, and being a halfa was nothing compared to what he would have to endure from now on: living without the acceptance of his family.

In Danny's mind, the moment his secret was revealed to his mother and father was the moment his life ended. It seemed that there was nothing salvageable left, only broken shards of the past which could never be again pieced together. This was worse, but Danny was convinced it could not worsen further. He was unsure if he should assume this, afraid that his life might find a way to become worse, but he knew that the events of the night his secret identity had been discovered justified the conviction. This was the night he had lost everything, swiftly, without warning. He believed it was safe to assume that this was the worst it could get because now, he had nothing left that could be destroyed, taken away, since it already had been, on this ill-fated night.

Allowing his parents to discover his identity as Danny Phantom had seemed a promising idea at first. He had gotten to a point that he could not take the pressure and fatigue that came with his ghost fighting, and wanted more than anything to just throw up his hands and sit back and let the town of Amity Park fall to the invasions of ghosts. But he knew that it was his duty to protect those around him and his conscience would kill him before he did if he allowed the town to be overrun by ghosts, and so he had begun to contemplate if there was a solution that would not only keep the town safe but him, too. He had thought that if his parents knew the truth, things might have gotten better for him. His parents would understand why he failed and skipped school, and would cut him slack. He could fight ghosts and protect his town without creating trouble for himself. His parents would worry about him when ghosts came, but he would take extra precaution when fighting, and if he did manage to get hurt, his mother would be there, waiting for him back home to bandage his wounds. His mental state would improve; he wouldn't have to lie to them, always feeding the ever-guilty conscience. And his parents might even be proud of him, for his selflessness and bravery. And so he had shown them, had "gone ghost" before their eyes. But he had never expected them to react the way they did.

His parents had been sitting together in the living room on the sofa, studying one of his father's new ghost hunting devices. Danny approached them tiredly, wincing as he moved his sore muscles. The last ghost he had combated had been more powerful than most he fought.

"Mom, Dad, can I talk to you guys? About something serious?" he'd asked, only a trace of hesitation lingering in his voice as he looked down at the new ghost weapon in his father's hands.

They looked up at him and smiled. "Of course you can, Danny," his mother said, her voice filled with encouragement.

Danny looked to his father, who nodded and said, "We're all ears, Danny, whatever you want to talk about."

Danny drew comfort from his father's undemanding tone and gained the confidence he needed to speak.

"I haven't been very honest lately. I've been hiding something from you, something I shouldn't be. It's such a huge part of who I am, and it's a huge part of my life. You guys deserve to know what's been going on all this time. I think it will explain a lot," Danny said seriously.

His parents stared at him, bemused, but nodded their heads.

"Alright, Danny," said his mother.

"Can you promise me something?" Danny said feebly.

His mother smiled understandingly and reached out and took his hands in hers. His father smiled supportively.

"Of course, Danny," his mother said softly.

"Promise me you won't hate me."

"Danny, we will never hate you, no matter what," his father said, and his mother nodded.

"No matter what?"

"No matter what," his mother repeated.

Danny stared at the loving faces of his mother and father and transformed into Danny Phantom.

He could not have imagined these expressions their faces held of affection and support could shift so quickly. They stared at him, their eyes wide, their faces twisted in horror. Then, he saw the anger behind their eyes. Pure, undiluted rage.

His father had activated the newest weapon he'd been working on and aimed it in Danny's direction. He had fired. His mother had pulled out her weapon and had done the same.

Now, Danny understood what it meant to tempt fate. To tempt fate meant to lose everything you cared about, everyone you loved. He might have assured himself once that his life could not get any worse, but it had. And now, after losing his mother and father's love, his home, his life, he wanted to believe that it could not get any worse, but feared it might, though he could not imagine how. He was tempted, however, to hold to this belief that fate was through robbing him, because now he lay in the snow that had settled into the ground of a wooded area, fading in and out of consciousness, his limbs twisted and broken, his body marred and bloody. He was sure there was no punishment worse than lying in the snow on the ground of a cold forest after being beaten to near death by one's own parents.

His father's weapon had been ironically well constructed, the aim precise, the blasts sharp and painful. Danny had changed back into Fenton in an attempt to prove to his parents that he was still their son and not an evil spirit, but it had not mattered. His father continued to fire even after beholding the knowledge that this ghost was part of his boy. Jack Fenton had gotten several decent shots at him before Danny had fled. By that point, he had borne enough wounds to his human body that he had broken bones in several different places, his arm almost severed at the shoulder, and had begun to bleed to death. He had staggered away from his home and run into the nearby woods where he collapsed.

Danny did not allow himself to believe it. The pain of it was too much to bear, and he would not force it upon himself. Not yet. Now, this thing that had happened was not real. Like a sick dream, he thought he would soon wake up and head downstairs from his room to the kitchen where his mother and father would be and would smile when they saw him and would hug him. He lay in the snow and instead focused on another half of reality, that of the other half fading in his mind. He held a certain reality instead. He knew, without question, that if he did not get help, he would die. He could not call Jazz or Tucker or Sam. He could not seek help in that town, could not take refuge where he would be hunted and despised. His friends and his sister could not protect him from his mother and father, but Danny had decided subconsciously that there was only one person who could.

Painfully, Danny reached into his pocket using the arm that was not severed and found his phone. He dialed the number slowly. The phone rang and he prayed mentally it would pick up. After the fourth ring, it did.

"_Who is this?" _came the impatient voice of Vlad Masters.

"Danny," he responded, gasping to form the word.

There was a pause. _"_Daniel_?"_

"Yes," Danny said hastily.

"_Daniel, I don't know what this is about but-"_

"Vlad, I told them and-"

"_What?"_

"They tried to kill me."

"_They…" _Then, Vlad's voice became frantic. _"Daniel, are you alright? Where are you?"_

"I'm lying in a forest. I'm going to die."

"_No. No, you're not going to die. I'm going to find you and…"_

But Danny did not hear him. He lost consciousness and the phone fell from his hand, into the glistening frost on the forest floor.

"_Danny!" _Vlad cried. _"_Danny_!"_


	2. Chapter 2

Author's note:

Thank you for all of the favorites/alerts, as well as the lovely feedback. I always appreciate it. Please enjoy this chapter, and I would love to hear any comments/critics. Thank you all ~VC

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><p>DanPhantomsApprentice: Thank you. =)<p>

13rose: Thank you. I'll go over these two chapters and fix errors when I find the time. I appreciate the feedback.

1valleygirl4: Thank you, Vlad is my favorite character as well. =)

MidnightResWri: Thank you very much for the excellent feedback, I really appreciate it, and it will be taken into consideration. =)

Batgirl91939: Thank you very much. =)

MillionDollarNinja: Thank you, hope you enjoy the chapter.

Dreamcreator: Thank you. =)

DeliciousKrabKakes: LOL thanks. =)

Bananahsplit: Thanks you very much.

Angel Girl Phantom: We'll see =P

Lovelifegymnastics: Thank you =)

VampireFrootloopsRule: Thank you, and I hate it when I find a fic I like and it turns out to be slash too. I also want to strangle his parents as well. ^-^

Sin – NaMe: Yes, I am evil aren't I? =D Thanks.

NykSkyBlue: Thank you very much, hope you like the chapter.

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><p>Vlad Plasmius sped toward Amity Park, his heart and mind racing. Snowflakes drifted around him and settled on the streets below him, coating the world with a fresh dusting of powdered-sugar white snow. The air around him was silent and still. The world seemed all too peaceful.<p>

Like Danny, Vlad had not allowed himself to process this knowledge. He focused on what was urgent rather than what could be dealt with later. He knew one thing –Daniel was lying badly injured in the frigid weather, possibly dead. He did not let himself think any more deeply about it than that, because he feared that if he did, the love of his life, who had undoubtedly done this to Daniel, might become less beautiful. He did not want to hate her.

In truth, Vlad had always feared the idea of Maddie rejecting Daniel, not so much for the younger half-ghost's safety but a greater truth –if Maddie had rejected her own son when he told of his ghost powers, what would she think of him? If she ever realized the truth, she would detest him more than she had before but what was more, she would undoubtedly try to kill him, if she had attempted to murder Daniel. The knowledge confirmed what he feared; he felt that if he was to love her, he could not hide a part of himself, but this part she would not love. And so she would not love the other, either. He would not acknowledge this. He was not ready to look at this woman who had always been so selfless and loving and know that she had done this to her child. He could not bear it, and he would not try. Not until he saw proof. Until he saw Daniel's misshapen and bloody body, he would not believe it.

But he could believe this of Jack, and had he not been so focused with the safety of the other half-ghost, he would not have been able to contain his rage. Jack had forced these ghostly powers upon his own son, then punished him because of them when he admitted to processing them. Jack had hated his own creation before and hated him now. He would hate him forever, ghost or boy, and, it became evident, would hurt him until he was dead.

So, the question turned in Vlad's mind: where was Daniel?

Before he fled his mansion that day after receiving the call from Daniel, he had taken a moment to be sensible. If Daniel was as injured as he had sounded, and assuming that he had been home when this took place, he must not be far from Fenton Works. Where ever this woods was Daniel lay in, it would not be far from his home. So, naturally, Vlad decided it would be most logical to start searching there. He could only hope, as his mind raced, that he could find Daniel in time.

But it had not occurred to him to confront Jack and Maddie. In truth, it did not seem an option. The bitter reality of it was his fear that Maddie would never love him if she knew he cared for the ghost scum she hated. He felt himself being pulled in two directions; who did he care for more? Whose love did he want? That of a wife, or that of a son?

He neared Amity Park and flew down to the ground but did not change back in Vlad Masters. He saw Fenton Works and gave the house a brief glance before looking away, dissuaded. Then, wondering if his eyes were playing tricks on him, he looked back. In the snow that had fallen, there was a trail of blood that had turned pink as it mixed with the snow and tracks in long, desperate strides, which looked as though whoever had made them had been trying to outrun something but could not gain their footing, that lead from the front door of Fenton Works to as far as Vlad could see down the road.

He flew, following them. At some point, he stopped when he saw a purple backpack embedded in the dissolving pink snow which he recognized to be Daniel's.

He looked down the length of the tracks along the road and did not see Daniel. Picking up the backpack and clutching it to his chest, he called, _"Daniel!"_

While Vlad followed his tracks, Danny lay unconscious in the snow. At some point, he woke and lifted his head. He stared into the piercing yellow eyes of the leader of the pack of wolves that surrounded him. Hunched forward, it approached slowly and menacingly, growling lowly, baring its teeth, white fangs that glinted in the glowing light of the moon and the snow.


	3. Chapter 3

Danny stared into the glowing eyes of the wolf, listening as it growled fiercely, its fangs bared. The wolf glowered at him, and Danny, even in his state of utter dismay and confusion, was able to detect the hunger in its eyes; it seemed unmistakable. And it was not lost in the eyes of the other wolves. It was present there, too, just as unmistakably terrifying.

Danny could see that there were at least seven or eight wolves surrounding him—perhaps more, but he didn't dare look around. He was afraid to take his eyes off the wolf in front of him, for fear it would pounce. He didn't even risk a glance to his sides. He knew that that was all it would take, and then he would be the wolves' dinner.

So he lay there in the snow, his body rigid and still. As he stared into those glowing yellow eyes of the snarling wolf, he felt what Tucker and Sam and he had liked to call "braindead". His mind felt hazy and numb, incapable of thinking. He was surrounded by wolves, and he didn't know what to do. He strained, but could not remember ever being told what to do if he ever ended up in a situation like this. Perhaps Sam had forced him to watch a nature program about wolves but he couldn't remember now. He couldn't remember anything. It was like trying to solve one of the algebraic problems Mr. Lancer wrote up on the board. It was impossible.

He laid in the snow, feeling stunned, realizing that he was helpless against these wolves. He was not in pain, but he was numb, his limbs frozen, and he could not move. The snow around him had turned pink, mingled with his blood. He thought then, vaguely, without much importance, that the wolves had smelled the fresh blood and followed it until they found him. He wasn't entirely sure how wolves worked, but he knew from taking care of Cujo that they had an incredible sense of smell. Of course they had smelled the blood.

And if he knew anything, even vaguely, about canines, it was that they were carnivores and that if they smelled blood they would find it and devour its source.

So he knew that if he laid here and thought about what to do any longer, the wolves would do just that. They would devour him.

The wolf that he would not take his eyes off of looked as if it were growing increasingly agitated. Its growl became louder, more threatening, fangs bared, gleaming in the white light of the moon. It looked as if it was only a few moments away from pouncing on him and he could sense that. Why it hadn't already, he was not sure, but he knew that it would not wait longer. If he did not do something, it would attack him and the rest would follow.

The arm that had been almost severed, his left, was twisted behind him limply and he knew enough not to move it. But his other arm, the right, though slightly numb, had not been badly injured and he thought that perhaps he could use it. But it was frozen in the snow, and he knew that if he was going to use it he would need to pull it free, which would make the wolves pounce. He could not pull it out slowly and carefully—the moment he moved, they would move, and he needed to be quick if he was going to get it out before they could get him.

So he did pull his arm up from the frozen ground quickly but painfully, tearing the stiff skin and causing it to bleed… without thinking first about what he would do _with _his arm when he got it free.

He wolf that was hunched forward in front of him pounced first. Danny, trying to think of what to use his arm for, stunned with pain, saw the wolf only when it was too late. It pounced on him, and the rest of the pack followed. He felt their teeth pierce his skin and clamp down. He felt as they tore pieces of skin away from the bone and gnawed at it until they had polished off any remaining skin on it and licked it clean of blood. He felt unrelenting pain. He could hear them as they ate him; he heard the skin being torn from his body, heard them as they chewed, as they ate him alive.

He knew he had become a meal, a piece of meat. He knew what was happening, and he tried to detach himself. He could feel himself fading, the life leaving his body, and he accepted that. In this, he was able to draw his spirit away from the wolves with the idea that it would soon be over, that there was somewhere without pain. He used this to make himself numb while he was eaten. He used it to make himself strong for the short while left he had to be.

And he felt he was able to do this because he had nothing to live for. He had no home to go to or parents to take care of him or any love whatsoever. He could not think of a reason to fight when he knew that even if he did survive, all there was for him was more pain. In death, he thought he could find rest, if not peace.

He had almost died; he was close, much closer than anyone would later realize. He had been so close to death when Vlad Masters found him as he was being eaten alive by the wolves. He was far enough unconscious that he was not able to witness as Vlad shot each wolf with a beam of pink energy with amazing accuracy, not accurate enough, however, to kill them then and there—Vlad had intended to make their deaths as painful and lengthened as possible without wasting the time to beat them himself.

He went to Danny, picked him up, and shook him. But Danny did not open his eyes.

Vlad started to weep uncontrollably as he held Daniel in his arms. His mind was already made up—Daniel would not make it.

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><p>Tucker and Sam were walking home from the movies that same night. They were trudging through the blinding snow, intent on going to Danny's house. They hadn't seen him since the day before and they hadn't heard from him all that day, even after texting and calling him multiple times, and they were wondering if something was wrong.<p>

"You think Danny's pissed at us for something?" Tucker asked.

"What did we do to piss him off?" Sam responded smartly.

"I don't know. But you know this isn't like Danny," Tucker commented.

"I know, and I know he's not mad at us," Sam said.

"Then why hasn't he responded to any of our messages?"

"He's probably busy. Or he went somewhere. Maybe there's been more ghosts to fight."

"He never leaves anywhere without his phone, Sam. You know he carries it around all the time so that he can reach us if he has trouble with a ghost. And he always answers his phone, in case _we're_ the ones in trouble and we need _his_ help."

"Jeez, sounds like you're talking about yourself, Tuck," Sam said sarcastically. "You know, bringing the phone everywhere? I noticed that more out of you than Danny."

Tucker smiled. "Well, you know me and my PDA. But he does it too."

They took a shortcut through the woods near Danny's house which would take them to Fenton Works faster. The trek was much tougher in the woods than walking through the streets, but they liked it because it was quiet and secluded. The tangle of branches above them didn't provide much cover from the snow, but they didn't mind. They walked through the freshly fallen snow, listening as it crunched beneath their feet.

Tucker looked down at the ground.

"Look, Sam," he said, pointing at the ground. "Wolf tracks. Looks like a whole pack."

"Can we focus on figuring out what's up with Danny, please?"

"I thought you said you weren't worried."

"I'm not."

"Then why do you seem so nervous?"

"Tucker, I'm not nervous. I just—" Sam's breath caught in her throat as she stared at something in the distance. Her eyes were wide and scared, her body stiff. "Oh, shit."

Tucker turned to look in the direction she was staring. When he saw what she saw, he froze, rigid with fear. "Sam?"

They watched as Vlad Plasmius handled Danny Fenton. Vlad wrapped their friend in something, what looked like his cape, and laid him over his shoulder. Vlad secured him, then rose into the air slowly and flew away in the direction opposite them. They did not see the tears in Vlad's eyes or the body of their friend.

Sam and Tucker turned to each other, eyes wide.

"We've got to get help," Tucker said.

"Fenton Works," Sam said steadily.

Tucker nodded.

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><p>AN:

Woot! I finally got this updated. Thanks for all the reviews/favorites/alerts. I really appreciate the support I'm getting for this story. Let me know what you think about this chapter. I know it's kind of... dark... but please don't give up on it yet!

I want you all to know that it won't take this long to update in the future. With Christmas, I've been really busy lately. Also, I caught the nasty disease known as Writer's Block, so I've been really braindead, like I've got a fuckin bullet in my head (I've been listening to Rage Against the Machine). I've also been pretty busy with other distractions, like watching South Park and adoring Butters when I would normally be writing new chapters. Yes, it's been tough, but I'm pulling through it.

Also, I want to ask everyone's opinion on something. Let me know what you think. I know when writing fanfictions some people like to use references to outside things, you know, things like Coke or McDonalds. When other people write fanfictions, however, they don't prefer to do that. I'm on the fence, and I was wondering whether I should include these or not. I know with Danny Phantom they talk about the Packers, which is a reference to something outside the cartoon, but I don't know if that counts. And yeah, I know it's my fan fic and I should take initiative, but I really don't care. I'd like to hear what you have to say about it so please let me know.

Well, I'm going to go to sleep so I'm well rested and looking good when I open my new flatscreen T.V. tomorrow (I saw my dad bringing it in). I hope you enjoyed this chapter, keep the feedback coming.

~VC


	4. Chapter 4

On that same night that Danny Fenton lay in the snow surrounded by wolves, and both Vlad Masters and his best friends Tucker and Sam set out looking for him, his sister, Jazz, was driving her car through the unrelenting snowstorm. She drove carefully—with pristine cautiousness, for fear she would lose control of her car on such icy roads. She had no snow tires on the old vehicle she had spent most of her savings on—she had not needed to save the money for college, having been offered full scholarships to several different colleges, something for which she was glad, because the money she had saved was very little and would not have been enough to pay for a decent college had she needed it. The car she drove was street legal but in very poor condition all the same, and it needed many repairs for which she didn't have the money. Driving it through the snow and ice she felt very afraid and did not trust her life with the car, but she did not have a choice. She wanted to get home, and as soon as possible.

She hoped soon, however, she would have the money for the repairs, or maybe even a new, decent car. She was driving back from a school about forty-five minutes from her home in Amity Park. It was a middle school, and was nothing out of the ordinary or to brag about. The staff at the school had been looking for an assistant teacher to lend a hand in several different classes. The job would not interfere with her studies, because she would only be needed there for a short amount of time which would not go into her first year at college. She was considering the job because she thought it would be impressive to have on her résumé once she graduated college. She also liked the idea of being a part of molding the young minds of the next generation, and because she thought she might actually enjoy it or at least feel as if she were accomplishing something in her spare time. But she also was considering it for the money, of course. Originally, the school had not planned to pay whoever took the job very much, but she was told that if she were to consider taking the job, they would raise the pay because of her high I.Q. and excellent test scores, with the idea that her greater knowledge might have an incredibly positive impact on the children. The pay was still not much, but if she did take the job she would easily be able to pay for the repairs her car needed and have some money left over. Maybe it wouldn't be enough for a Mercedes, but she liked the amount they were willing to pay all the same.

And though it would be a trek out to the school, she didn't think she minded much—that was, assuming she got her car up to speed, though she knew for the first week before she was paid she would have to rough it. And she couldn't wait until the day she did get it fixed, because right now, she was wondering why she had ever thought it was a good idea to leave her house in the first place.

The car's old radio spilled out Beethoven, which did nothing to placate her as it normally would have. The sound of the music was almost lost to her as she tried to focus on the icy road ahead. She still felt jittery, even though she knew she was very close to her home in Amity Park, which she was thankful for—she felt as if she had been away for at least a week, when really she had been gone overnight—the job interview had been incidentally late, and she had reluctantly stayed overnight in a motel, not wanting to risk the trip back home on the icy roads late at night—and both the stressful trip out to the school and the trip back left her longing to collapse onto her bed back at Fenton Works. She had had several close calls driving home that day, none of which had endured any damage to either the car or to her, but she still decided that the first thing she would do with the money if she took the job was invest in new snow tires.

She was carefully concentrated on the road, so much so that she jumped when she heard her phone begin to ring within her silky black purse. She reached over with one hand and fumbled while she kept her eyes on the road, pushing aside her powder compact and her lipstick and her house keys, until she found her phone. She grabbed it, flipped it open, and held it up to her ear.

"Hello," she said into the phone. She moved her hand back onto the steering wheel and held the phone between her shoulder and her ear.

"Jazz, I need to—" a panicked voice started on the other end.

Jazz's eyebrows pulled together and her forehead creased. "Who is this?"

"Sam. It's Sam, you know, Danny's friend?" Sam said. Her voice was frantic.

"Yeah, I know who—" Jazz started.

"Jazz, Danny is in serious trouble."

"What?" Jazz said, her voice filled with disbelief. "Sam, what are you talking about?"

"Jazz, I'm not going to explain this to you through the phone. Tucker and I'll meet you in front of Fenton Works. I'll tell you there," Sam said impatiently.

"Why can't you—" Jazz said.

Sam hung up on her, and Jazz stared at the phone in disbelief. She threw the phone back into her purse and then turned off the radio quickly and without much thought. Shaking, she slammed her foot down on the gas pedal and sped down the icy road, as if her car had not just been creeping slowly along, significantly below the speed limit, minutes ago. She could tell that whatever was going on was urgent, and she was determined to find out what it was. Snow tires or no.

She began to wonder whether a teaching job at a school forty-five minutes away from her home was a good idea or not.


	5. Chapter 5

Vlad Masters sped through the Ghost Zone, carrying Danny Fenton's limp body in his arms, clutching him with bone-crushing strength unknowingly as his mind raced perhaps as quickly as he now flew. As he held him, he kept one hand on the young halfa's neck, resting it there tentatively as the fingertips felt for the movement of a pulse. But, as he had predicted, there was not one. Or, perhaps, he just couldn't _sense _one. But perhaps that was a futile idea to put his faith in when he knew there was not much chance that Daniel would survive.

Still, it seemed it was all he could do, and if he had not been so sadly mourning over Daniel who may or may not have been dead, he might have realized how much this aggravated him—feeling so helpless and without control. It seemed he had always had a plan for everything and knew what to do in every case scenario whatever it might be, and at one point he had believed this_, _but then, he had never even begun to imagine that Daniel's parents would betray him as they had and leave him to be devoured by wolves in the woods; this situation was one he could not comprehend, let alone have to deal with. Perhaps if he had ever even pondered the idea of Daniel's parents casting him out as they had, it would not have been out of serious concern for his safety but rather the idea that Daniel would have no one to go to who would take him in, for no one else would be capable of understanding, but him. Perhaps he had liked the idea, that Daniel would come crawling to him for a new home, guidance and comfort, perhaps a new father. But now that Daniel had done just that, he did not like it at all. In fact, he felt gravely disturbed.

He thought of Daniel's voice as they had talked on the phone. He had sounded so desperate and hopeless, the somber, monotonous voice of someone who has given up on life as they speak their last will and testament before fastening that dreaded rope around their pale neck and taking that one last step to their death. And Vlad could not stand to hear him like this. He had grown to know Daniel as a headstrong, arrogant teenage boy who took the approach to life that no matter what was thrown at him could be defeated, that in the end good would prevail over evil. In that voice of Daniel over the phone, however, he had heard none of that. And that had not been what he had wanted. He had wanted Daniel to come to him as _Danny_, not this unfamiliar, lifeless boy.

And that was what he had become. _Lifeless. _And because Vlad felt he had no control over anything anymore, he could only hope that for once, only once, his intuition would be flawed, and that Daniel would at least be alive when they arrived at their destination—the land in the Ghost Zone that belonged to the two notorious ghosts who had the ability to heal wounds.

Perhaps this was futile, because Vlad had heard rumors floating around the Ghost Zone that the two healing ghosts, Asa and Althea, were very private about their work and did not allow visitors to see them without prior notice. They would heal you or anyone else, but their services were not free. Vlad had heard that they offered up their healing abilities to whoever could retrieve them herbs from the real world. But he had not given them any notice of his coming, of course, and he was doubtful that they would agree to heal Daniel on those terms. But, again, because there was nothing else, he had to hope.

Asa and Althea's home was located in the outer region of the Ghost Zone, the abandoned and inconvenient places which rung out with loneliness. As Vlad approached this place, he began to understand why they might want others to go to the real world for them to get their herbs. It had taken an unrealistically long amount of time for him to bring Daniel here, and he couldn't imagine going back and forth between the real world to get a few _herbs. _But then, he remembered that he was _depending _on those herbs. If they couldn't save Daniel, he didn't know what could.

Their home might have looked gorgeous to him if he hadn't been mourning as he was, or if he had not just gone right to the entryway without a single glance at the structure itself. The swirling grey air that surrounded the floating mass of land made the house look even more eerie than it already was. It was a large, grey castle-like structure, with looming towers that seemed to ascend into nowhere, the windows dark and ominous, surrounded by lush green pastures which looked diluted and faded against the grey air. In the distance there was a deep blue, almost grey looking body of water that was still and quiet. If Vlad had looked, he would have thought it reminded him of one of the castles he had seen in Greece, which he had visited on one of his many trips around the world to pass the time.

He looked at the rusty brass doorknocker on one of the huge wooden doors, and realized he had no free hand to use it. He was too afraid to move his fingers from Daniel's neck, though he was sure he felt no pulse.

He drove his booted foot into the wooden door with such force the hinges trembled.

Vlad heard the sound of light footsteps approach the door only moments after. It opened, and Vlad found himself staring into the dark, eclipsed eyes of the young ghost woman before him. Her white, flowing robes fluttered around her as she took a step toward him. Her ornate jewelry glinted in the grey light.

"Hello," Vlad said hastily. "Miss—"

"Althea," she spoke softly, but confidently, and raised her gloved hand and placed it over Vlad's, which had not moved from Danny's neck. Her fingers wandered slightly and also touched his neck.

"Please, you need to help him," Vlad said.

"I will have to ask Asa. I first need his approval before I can heal the boy," she said. "Come in."

"His name is Danny."

She stared at Vlad for a moment, and then at Danny. "Yes. Danny," she said, then, "Please follow me."

And so Vlad stepped into the dark castle with Danny clutched in his arms, and followed the strange young ghost woman, Althea.


	6. Chapter 6

Asa was a tall man with dark eyes which held no compassion and an unshaven face. In the eyes of some of those who wandered the Ghost Zone, it might have seemed his death was natural and not untimely, for the deep wrinkles on his pale face implied that he was well past aged. In fact, Asa had only just reached the prime of his life in the days leading up to his most certainly untimely death.

He wore a cloak which encompassed him in dark folds of wool. Around his neck hung a carved wooden cross on a rawhide cord. He walked to the table beneath the small window in one of the stone towers, his leather slippers tapping only loudly enough to be audible. On the table were several crumbling pots made of worn red clay, out of which sprouted tiny leafed plants. His short, brown hair was disturbed slightly as a gust of icy wind blew in through the window and ruffled it, but he did not look up as he meticulously picked leaves from each plant. He was careful in doing this; each leaf he picked was first examined for any flaws or impurities.

When he was finished, he brought the herbs back to a splintering wooden table in the middle of the large room. He placed several of the herbs into a stone mortar and picked up its matching pestle. He had just begun to grind the leaves when he heard Althea in the hallway outside. He paused and looked up.

"_I was not aware that this Danny was_ _the _Ghost Boy_, Mr. Plasmius,"_ he heard Althea say with an unusual companionableness that was not like her.

Asa gasped slightly as his eyes bore into the heavy wooden door. "_Plasmius_ has come here? With the _Ghost Boy_?"

"Yes," Vlad Plasmius said quietly to Althea with weary eyes, his face sickly pale, "but I wish I could say he was not."

Althea turned to stare at him. A look of concern furrowed her brow as she stepped toward Vlad who held Danny Fenton in his arms without once moving his fingers from the place where a pulse should have been. "But isn't it wonderful to be a halfa? Having the freedom to roam throughout the land of the living and the world of the dead, being capable of pursuing relationships with those dead while keeping those with the living all at once?"

Vlad slowly moved his gaze from her to Danny. Althea watched as he gently moved his hand from Danny's neck to his placid face and began to lightly caress his cheek with his fingers.

"It was those relationships with the living that were the cause of his death."

"But he is not dead," Althea said hastily, her voice still holding that certain composed softness however. She allowed herself to feel for Danny's pulse again and Vlad did not stop her. "No, he is not dead."

"I can't feel a pulse." His voice was defeatedly toneless. "How can you then?"

"Because I am searching in the right place." She took his hand in hers from Danny's cheek and moved it back onto his neck. She placed it where Vlad had been feeling for the pulse. As before, Vlad felt nothing. "You were feeling for his pulse here, and you feel nothing."

"Yes," Vlad said.

"That is because you placed your hand too low on his neck. If we move it higher—" She adjusted his hand correctly on Danny's neck, and he did indeed feel a pulse, faint, but a pulse all the same. "—you will find his pulse."

She left her hand over his and he did not pull it away. Their eyes met briefly.

"I don't know why I brought him here," Vlad said. "There might be a pulse, but he will die anyway. You won't be able to heal him."

"I wouldn't be so certain."

Althea and Vlad tore their gazes away from one another, and Althea pulled away from Vlad guiltily. Asa briefly glanced at Althea with restrained contempt, then at Vlad Plasmius with little more intent than to size him up, then to the Ghost Boy, Danny Phantom. His cold eyes wandered over Danny's broken body for a long moment before he turned back to Vlad.

"Is he alive, Mr. Plasmius?"

"Please, I would prefer to be called Vlad," Vlad said, his voice sounding slightly irritated. "And, yes, he is alive, but he will not be for long. You are Asa, I take it."

"_Vlad, _I _am _Asa, the most talented shaman this realm has to offer. Whether they are ill with the common cold or have had every bone in their body broken, they leave here healed and feeling better than they had before. I have yet to lose anyone who has been in my care. I am capable of healing the Ghost Boy easily," Asa said uncontrolled narcissism.

Althea rolled her eyes and made a sound of disgust. Asa looked at her out of the corner of his eye and regarded her with a small smirk. He did not turn away from Vlad, however, and said, "That is, of course, for a price."

"Do you really believe you will be able to heal him?" Vlad asked quietly, his voice filled with uncertainty and that same hope he found himself forced to depend on.

"Without a doubt, my friend."

"Then, I will pay whatever price you may ask of me if it means saving Daniel," Vlad said.

"We do not ask for your money, but rather your services in return for ours," Asa said. "We will need you to fetch some herbs for us from the land of the living."

"If it means saving Daniel," Vlad repeated monotonously.

"Yes, it will mean saving Daniel. Now, Vlad, bring the boy in here and I'll begin healing him while Althea explains what you'll be bringing us back."

"Fine," Vlad said.

Asa held the door for him and he and Althea followed once he was inside. Vlad gingerly laid Danny on the wooden table in the center of the room. He reached down and felt his pulse again, found it slightly comforting, and touched Daniel's cheek again for what he feared would be the last time. Asa walked over carrying an aged and visibly worn book with a scuffed brown cover.

"Leave me, my friend. Your boy will be fine. Go, pay me off," he said.

Vlad went over to Althea who was paging through another worn book. He watched her as she looked for the page with the herb they needed.

Conforming to their wishes was humiliating, but if it meant saving Daniel, he would.

If it meant saving Daniel, he would.

* * *

><p>AN:

Hey, I just wanted to say thanks to everyone who has reviewed this story or added it to their favorites/alerts. I'm sorry I haven't adressed each of your individual reviews personally, but I'm usually pretty tired by the time I actually get the chapter done (which is typically around two or three in the morning) and I can't be helped to go through and write comments to each of you guys about the previous reviews. I'll try to do that next chapter.

I also appologise for the shortness of some of these chapters I've updated, but, again, pretty tired and can't be helped to write more.

Oh, hey look it's four twenty. And the coffee is wearing off.

Well, I hope you enjoy this chapter.

~Mother F****n' VC


	7. Chapter 7

Sam Manson was pacing outside Fenton Works. The moon was high overhead and the bright stars peeked out of the blackness of the night. They were both very cold, she and Tucker, but neither of them said so as they waited for Jazz to arrive. Tucker sat on the stone steps which led to the front doorway, hugging his knees to his chest and trying to move as little as possible. The snow was falling lightly, and the pristine white flakes collected in the folds of his red hat. His teeth were chattering, and he was shivering. Sam, however, was not. She was too focused on the matter at hand, and who, if put in the same position as she, would not have been? Nothing could possibly distract her from this; Danny was her best friend, but she knew he was more than that. If she was honest with herself, it would have been so easy to recognize how much she loved him. She had found herself lusting over him without cease; her sexual fantasies becoming an awkward fourteen-year-old boy rather than a tall, dark, troubled man well past the prime of his life who found nothing but bleakness and sorrow in life. She thought now that maybe Danny would always be her fantasy but nothing more because he would be dead by the time they finally tracked him down, for last she had seen of him, he had been laying, his body dripping blood and horribly marred, in the arms of his arch enemy, unconscious.

Sam did not need to think about this; she was aware, without any deliberation whatsoever, that this was entirely to be blamed on Vlad Masters himself. She believed wholeheartedly that it had been Vlad who had beaten him like that and who now planned to do something inexplicably horrendous to him. She did not consider the possibility that perhaps it had not been Vlad who had beaten him and was merely helping him. In fact, she did not even recognize it as a possibility. And why should she? Vlad had beaten Danny and taken him before, on at least three separate occasions. He had lured Danny and Mrs. Fenton to his home in the Rockies with the false promise of a science symposium in an attempt to coax them into becoming his new wife and son. He had attempted to create a clone of Danny to gain the perfect half-ghost son, and instead created a half-ghost named _Dani _who he used as means to correct the mistake that had created her in the first place—that being that he had not had Danny's mid-morph sample. Sam had tried to comprehend many a time after they had rescued Danny and Dani from their demise at his hands how one man could be so completely _fucked _up, to take such desperate but inhumane measures simply because he was _lonely_. This had been the point when she had decided that Vlad was really as dangerous as Danny had described. The line had been crossed then, and she did not think he anymore sounded deep and mysterious, a troubled soul doomed to wander the earth endlessly just as she, as she had on hearing Danny's first depiction of him. But the line had been crossed further, and she thought no better of him. She could not forget the time he had taken in Jazz, and while Danny said that it was because he probably actually cared for her, she believed he had only done it to use her as means of achieving his ultimate goal—getting Danny to become the son he so desperately wanted. Yes, he had pitted them against each other, telling Jazz to destroy Danny or else he would destroy _her_, but had he really believed Danny would not be able to defeat the Jazz while in the Ecto Suit? Sam thought not. While Danny always insisted that Vlad had wanted Jazz to kill him so he could have her as a daughter, Sam was confident on her theory. She believed that Vlad was not testing Jazz, but rather, testing _him_. Vlad loved to insist that he was evil, and perhaps he had wanted to push Danny to prove that he was right himself by killing Jazz to defend himself when they were forcibly pitted against each other. Sam thought Vlad must have known he would have enough power to defeat her, even wearing the Ecto Suit. And once Danny had taken care of her, he would see that he was meant to be Vlad's son because they were so alike in their evilness, and because he could not go back to his parents after what he had done, he would have to let Vlad father him. Sam knew she was right, and she knew Danny knew it too. They both knew that Danny hated the idea that Vlad might actually care for him, and that he always had some explanation or another why Vlad didn't in every situation even if it was clear he did. Danny had recalled Vlad asking him on multiple occasions as well to join him with the justification that they were so alike they should be together. But he rarely _just_ asked, and they all knew well enough just how…persuasive he could be, and just how far he would go to be able to call Danny his own. So why should this time be any different?

Sam knew it wasn't. It was obvious that he had another scheme to force Danny to join the Darkside—it was terminology only Tucker would have used—and he was being just as vehement and inhumane as ever. But now she was acutely aware that something was different. She knew Vlad's measures were always extreme, but she had never thought they could be _this_ extreme. Because if she was truthful when she thought of how Danny had had looked laying in Vlad's arms, she would have admitted that of the many fights he had had with Vlad, she had never seen Danny come out looking so…_dead_, because she was being honest with herself and was thus unable to put it in any lighter, less oppressive way.

She knew what a dead person looked like. She had been to enough funerals, some of which she had not even known the occupant of the coffin. It sounded quite stereotypical but it was the truth. She liked going to them. And perhaps she had not learned much while going to them, had not been able to communicate with the deceased, but if she had learned anything it was that most of the dead people that had lain there on display looked eerily similar to Danny as he had in that moment. So she began to wonder—was that Vlad's new plan? To _kill_ Danny?

Perhaps he had gotten tired of trying to force Danny into being his son, enough so that this objective and its values became meaningless to him. Perhaps Danny had also become meaningless, or perhaps he had had all of Vlad's hatred, hatred which consisted of emotions Vlad did not want to admit existed in him, loneliness, sadness, desperateness, directed at him, because he had not become that which he had wanted so badly, enough so that he had found Danny insufferable enough to kill. Perhaps he had adapted that attitude of "if I can't have you, no one can!" to himself. If he couldn't have Danny, he would simply kill him so no one else, especially Jack, could try to take the role of father from him. That seemed to be his right. But, Sam wondered, why would he be taking the _corpse_ with him?

She shivered then, and realized how literally untouched she was by the thought of Danny's death. Perhaps, like the cold, dry air, it was just starting to affect her, making her shiver as chills snaked up her spine. She was aware of this possibility but she was not yet fully aware of what it _meant_.

But if she thought about it more closely, she realized it did not make sense. Vlad had invested so much time, money, and effort into trying to make Danny his son, and did she really expect herself to believe he of all people would throw all his hard work away and give up just because he had been unsuccessful the first few attempts? And, aside from his persistence, she knew how much Vlad actually cared about him. Danny himself may not have believed it to be true, but would Vlad really go through all that effort to make such intricate schemes if he did not? It did not make sense to her.

And she did not know what to believe.

"Sam!" Tucker, administrator for the Darkside, called to her through chattering teeth. Sam was standing a little ways into the road and he had been calling to her for a good five minutes from where he sat on the stone steps leading to the front door of Fenton Works.

"What?" she hissed, turning abruptly toward him.

"We've been standing around out here in the freezing cold for about two hours!"

"Actually, you've been sitting, genius."

"My parents are going to kill me when I get home, Sam!" Tucker said. "It must be about one in the morning!"

"Do you care about Danny at all, Tucker?"

"Of course I do, but—"

"Then shut your fucking mouth and stop complaining." As Sam paced in the street in front of Fenton Works, Tucker quieted. Slowly, the icy air was taking affect just as the swelling fear inside her. She found herself longing for a cigarette like the one she had smoked with Gregor—or Elliot, she was unsure of what to call him—on one occasion they had spent time together. Ever since that first one, she had been smoking regularly, but no one she was aware of, not even Danny or Tucker, knew about it. She was never sure if she should tell, but, as of right now, she was quite tempted to, because she knew she could not simply pull one out and smoke it in front of Tucker without some kind of explanation and she was very desperate to ease the tension and dread that racked her body. And she was about to give him one, when Tucker spoke up.

"Where do you think Jazz is?" he asked distractedly, staring past her and into the darkened houses and buildings. "Do you think something happened to her while she was driving?"

"Maybe," Sam sighed, and started to walk back to the steps. She sat down next to Tucker. "Tucker, I'm sorry I told you to shut your mouth. I'm just so worried for Danny."

"I know," Tucker said, his eyes unmoving from the blackened silhouettes of houses and buildings against the sky which seemed lighter in comparison. "Me too."

Sam sighed again, and reached into the pocket of her plaid skirt and fumbled for her pack of cigarettes and her lighter. She touched the oily plastic of the lighter and the cheap cardboard package of cigarettes. She did not pull them out, but asked, "Hey, Tuck, you wouldn't mind if—"

She stopped when the front door behind them opened and yellow light spilled out of the house and onto their backs. They spun around and found themselves staring into the faces of Mr. and Mrs. Fenton.

"Hello, kids," Jack said monotonously. His face was somber, and his eyes were cold and distant but had an unnerving sort of psychosis as they stared at Sam and Tucker. The eyes of his wife were quite similar. "Is there something we can do for you?"

"You must be our son's friends," Maddie said in the same dull, distracted way as he. It might have appeared that she was looking at them, but on closer speculation she was looking past them, similarly to her husband. "Come in. We have a lot to talk about, don't we?"

Tucker and Sam nodded slowly and uncertainly. Sam's fingers let the lighter and the cigarettes fall back into her pocket disappointedly. They hesitantly stepped forward and into the seemingly empty home of the Fenton's. Maddie and Jack lead them into the darkened kitchen. Jack flipped on a light and Maddie indicated to two chairs at the kitchen table.

"Have a seat."

Tucker and Sam sat. Maddie and Jack then walked to the other side of the table where two unoccupied chairs were but did not sit down. Maddie placed her hands on the table and leaned forward.

"Now, just a few questions, _Sam_, _Tucker_."


	8. Chapter 8

Dani Phantom was wandering aimlessly through a park not far from the place where the glistening snow of the forest floor was disturbed and pink and dissolving, and marred with the hasty and barbaric tracks of wolves and the timid and staggering sets of footprints that belonged to humans, one of them bigger and one smaller. If anyone would have been out at this hour of the night to see her, she would have seemed a queer sight. She was a small girl, perhaps just old enough to enter the sixth or seventh grade, though she had never gone to school and didn't plan to. She was as thin as a stick with absolutely no build at all, and she looked to be just as lanky as her distant—_distant_ being the key word—cousin. And she certainly looked as if she had no home to report to at such a late hour of the night, wearing an oversized blue sweatshirt with pockets into which her hands were shoved and faded red shorts. She wore a red hat and masculine tennis shoes scuffed with dirt. Standing under one of the lamplights which glowed bright yellow comfortingly in the early morning darkness, she looked like some young punk waiting to join up with her friends for a night, or morning, of vandalizing cars and sidewalks and roadways. And while she may have looked that way, seemed almost as rebellious as the writer of this story, she was certainly not, because she had more good in her than anyone could have imagined. Simply, she did not have a place to go.

Dani Phantom had known what it felt like to have a father, someone to love her and nurture her, for perhaps a week at most, and even then, none of that affection was sincere. It was, perhaps, not even right—or fair—to call him her father, because that he was not. More than anything, Vlad Masters was her scientist, her creator, the one she had woken for the first time to see standing over her with a look of more or less disappointment on his face. But, aside from the disappointment, she could see he was calculating, strategizing how he could manipulate her for his own purpose. The hope was not lost in his eyes, and from then on she should have known that he'd never cared for her, not like a real father, like her cousin had. For a week she'd been living in blissful ignorance, letting her father "nurture" her, which meant, in other words, preparing her for what she would being doing to, in a sense, nurture him. Luring her cousin Danny Phantom into her father's trap, with the false promise of having her recessive DNA stabilized.

What had perhaps been the most painful thing about the realization that she was unwanted by Vlad Masters was not that she was simply not good enough for him, but rather that there was someone who _was_, and that person was the person she now called her cousin. Her heart had been broken when she'd learned that her father did not love her and never had, but the fact that there was someone he _did_ love whom she couldn't replace, even after being led to love him, shattered her heart to pieces that she knew where too small to ever be picked up. And that was perhaps what was hardest for her to cope with. It seemed that only when she'd started to love him and gotten attached, even possessive of him, had he betrayed her with the painful knowledge that he wanted a half ghost child, but that she wouldn't do. And if she was honest with herself, it became clear how genuinely _jealous _she was of Danny Phantom for having what she didn't—the acceptance of a father, specifically Vlad, though she knew Danny would never want anything to do with him, especially in that sense.

This was something else she did not know how to feel about. Sometimes, she found herself feeling thankful that her father would never have the satisfaction—or whatever else he'd get from it—of having Danny as a son. She was glad that Danny had not accepted Vlad's constant pleas to join him and be his child. In this, she found she felt her father still belonged to her. Vlad Masters perhaps did not love her, but he was not committed to loving Danny either. She felt that he would be unable to commit his love to a child until he knew that child, and she was relieved that Danny was not giving him the opportunity to do so. Vlad would not be able to love him unless Danny _let_ him, and she knew that. She also knew, and took comfort in the thought, that this was something Danny would _never_ do. And she felt that because of this, her father was unable to completely disown her—that was, if he'd ever owned her—with the knowledge that he might not end up with the perfect half-ghost _son_ he wanted and might have to settle for the _daughter_ he'd created instead.

On the other hand, she found herself wondering how Danny _couldn't_ want Vlad to father him. She knew without any dispute that if it was she who was in Danny's position, she would've gone back to Vlad in a heartbeat. She knew that Danny had a father who loved him genuinely and who would care for him no matter what, but she did not understand how Danny could have refused Vlad when the offer seemed so tempting to her. Maybe Jack was attentive to Danny, but he could never be attentive enough, because he would never be able to fully understand him. He would never be able to understand Danny's ghost powers and Danny would never be able to tell him. Wouldn't it be better to have a father you could talk openly to, who you weren't afraid to tell your utmost secrets, rather than one you had to hide from and lie to? _How_ could Danny choose _Jack_ over _Vlad_, when it was so obvious that that was what Vlad could give him? It was something she'd been wondering ever since she'd learned the truth about her purpose. There was one thing she knew in regards to this that she was sure about—if she had parents, she would not want to have to hide _anything _from them, no matter if she were a ghost and her parents were ghost hunters. And why would she have to hide anything? Weren't parents supposed to love you unconditionally? But then, she thought about Vlad…

Tonight, she was thinking about Vlad only vaguely, and she was thinking about Danny, but without such harshness. Though she might have been jealous of him for what he had and what she didn't, she found herself unable to hold it against him. It was not as if Danny had asked for Vlad to obsess over having a perfect half-ghost son to the point of insanity and to have chosen him, nor had he asked for his ghost powers in the first place. And frankly, she'd realized some time ago, if it weren't for him, she wouldn't be alive. Why would Vlad have accidently created her if he hadn't been trying to create Danny? And he _had _saved her from Vlad, on top of everything she'd done to him. And at times when she felt herself hating Danny because of what he had taken away from her, she remembered this, and realized that he had more right to hate her than she did him.

Now, she was wandering throughout Amity Park, without any particular aim. Under normal circumstances, she would have loitered in the Ghost Zone, feeling similarly without any particular purpose, where she was not bothered. Usually. She'd managed to get in a fight with a ghost named Youngblood over something that had hardly mattered, but was one of those things that managed to get blown out of proportion and spiral out of control. Youngblood had more or less befriended some of the other ghosts, it seemed, because now she had Skulker and Johnny 13 threatening to beat the shit out of her if she tried to cause him any harm. And while they might normally have been easy prey, she was still weak…very weak. She thought it would be better to avoid the conflict and wait until things cooled down before going back than to end up being dead _twice_.

She had meant to find Danny tonight. Her DNA was still unstable, and she was aware that if she did not find help she would evaporate just as the other clones of Danny had done. Every day she felt herself growing weaker and weaker, wasting away like a rotting corpse in a coffin, and when the pain that coupled with the fatigue became too great for her to handle on her own she had set out to find him. And while she did not know if he would be able to help, she thought it would be a horribly bad idea to go to Vlad for help. She was unsure of how he felt for her now, and while she hoped as she always did that he was having second thoughts about disowning her, she did not want to chance anything. If there was even the slightest possibility that Vlad might try to use her in another experiment or worse, to simply kill her off, she wouldn't risk it.

Tonight, she felt too fatigued to continue searching Amity Park for him, as she had been doing unsuccessfully for the better part of the day. She decided she would hang around here tonight and go and find him tomorrow in the morning. She was not sure how good an idea it was to remain in her current state for that much longer, because she already felt her limbs starting to _drip_, but she couldn't see very well even under the glow of the lamplights and she thought it would be pointless and energy-consuming to stumble around blindly in the darkened streets looking for Danny's house. It might even kill her.

So she sat back against the post of the lamplight and shut her weary eyes with the intent to sleep. And she had not been asleep for more than a few minutes when she heard the shrubs on the edge of the woods begin to rustle. She jerked her eyes open, her heart racing, her head pounding, as she stared at the bushes.

Vlad Plasmius fought his way out of them. In one hand, he held a crumpled sheet of paper, on which looked to be a drawing of a plant but she couldn't quite make it out. In the other, he held a small, leafy sprig carefully between his fingers. He stared down at it, his eyes shining helplessly but with such undiluted hope.

"Vlad!" Dani screamed, standing up abruptly.

Vlad looked in her direction, saw her, and his eyes widened and his mouth fell agape.

Then, his face changed. He no longer looked surprised.

He was furious.

* * *

><p>AN:

So...many...paragraphs... Kill me. I mean seriously, Kill me.


	9. Chapter 9

When someone like Danny Fenton thought of Dani Phantom, the words "selfless", "strong", "free-spirited" came to mind. When someone like Vlad Masters, however, thought of Dani, words like "ungrateful", "uncaring", "worthless" popped into his head. This was where, Vlad decided, the difference between he and Daniel was the greatest. They might suffer the same cruel joke of fate, the joke of these damning ghost powers, might have had the love of their lives, whether it be the love of a mother or of a lover, torn away from the so inhumanely, and might even share the same evil intentions, whether they be hidden and shy or blatant and straightforward, but when it came to how each of them viewed the world, and all the individuals in it, it seemed they were each of a different species entirely. How Daniel could view the world in such a good light when it had given him nothing but sorrow Vlad did not understand. He didn't understand how Daniel could save these undeserving people time and time again when they'd given him nothing but cold, hateful stares and labeled him as a villain in return. How could he devote his life to protecting them when he had so much reason—so many awful past experiences dealing with his pathetic town—to devote his life to hating them? How could he give these people, these people who weren't worthy to merely set foot in his presence, the time of day? And Vlad was so unlike him in that respect, and maybe that was enough to separate them. Daniel forgave and forgot with such submissive, soft-spoken ease. And Vlad knew that if Daniel were in his position, having had created this clone who had betrayed him and destroyed his ultimate hopes, he would have forgotten it and forgiven her, perhaps going so far as to taking her back in and curing her. But he was not in his position, and Vlad did most certainly not share these beliefs among him.

So, here was Dani, and because forgiving her was simply not an option, her fate seemed to be sealed, because he knew, truthfully, that she would not escape this battle with her life. And, oh, if it were not for the growing fear he had for Daniel, this realization would have overjoyed him. He had been tracking her for so long now, patiently and quietly waiting for the day he would find her and destroy her for her disobedience. That was, if he decided she was no longer of worth to him in trying to create a successful, _male _clone of Daniel. If she was, he would have been happy to take her back in, happy to give her his attention while he melted her down and studied her ectoplasmic remains, and he would have been happy to give his attention to his new son when it was all said and done. He would have rejoiced on this day, for Dani was as good as his, and _Danny _was as good as his, but Danny was not as good as his because at this moment Danny was laying on a stone table with two strange ghosts hovering over him, claiming to be able to heal him when he was most likely already dead.

But Vlad held a sick but oh so satisfying realization, one that would justify what he was about to do next. He might have seemed hesitant about killing Dani, for she was the key to creating the perfect half-ghost son, the new and improved Danny Phantom, or Danny Masters, as he happily awaited the day he would be able to call him. However, why should he need to create a clone now, when he finally had the _real_ Danny Phantom as his son? Why should he need to keep Dani alive to create some knockoff of Daniel when it was obvious that he _wanted _him to be what Jack and, even though it pained him to say so, Maddie never were? Vlad realized it had taken this ultimate betrayal on his parents' part to make Daniel finally see that they were meant to be father and son. Daniel admitted this to himself and called him, swallowing his humiliation, asking him for help, because it was what he wanted—now, after this betrayal, he wanted to belong to Vlad. He wanted to be his son. So, why should he keep this ungrateful little clone alive when she served no purpose other than to inhabit a space at the back of his mind, wracking him with the unending desire for revenge? He saw no reason.

Vlad knew that there was, however, a chance that Daniel would not live. He was acutely aware of that, just as he was of this wench standing before him, expecting him to take her back in. He might kill Dani and go back to Asa and Althea's castle to find Daniel laying on that cold slab, dead, and what would he do then? There would be no son, not the original Danny Phantom nor the clone, and he would be alone again, with no hope of finding any source of love. And while he wanted more than anything to have Daniel in his life, he would never be able to bring himself to create a clone of Daniel if and when he died. He had only been planning to create a clone of Danny Phantom if the real one did not submit to him… but he had, in those last moments of consciousness. Daniel had submitted by simply trusting Vlad to save him from the people who had birthed him, and because he had given him this consent, this trust, which would ultimately be for nothing, Vlad found that he felt he would be betraying Daniel just as his parents had done by creating a replacement. It was as if saying that what Daniel had done by giving him this trust, this consent to be his father, meant nothing to him, because he could program a clone to do that, and much more securely and consistently. It was as if saying that Daniel's personal qualities did not matter, because he could alter those in his clone if he felt the need to do so. But the fact that the real Daniel, who had come to hate him and had grown so weary of him over time, had given him this trust made Vlad love him so much more than he would ever be able to love a clone he had programed to come with that trust already built in, because this trust was so pure, so unaltered, and this meant the world to him.

Daniel was his son now, and Vlad would never betray him as his parents had. So, as he stared into the frightened eyes of Dani Phantom, he made a promise to himself—if he could not have the real Daniel, then he would have no Daniel at all. And, he realized, if Daniel died, the pain and sorrow of living without him might become unbearable and the temptation to create this replacement too great, so he would make sure he was never given the chance.

"Stand still, dearest," he said softly, and raised a gloved hand, in which, pink energy surged.

Dani's eyes widened and she took a step back, as Vlad took a step forward.

* * *

><p>AN:

Oh SHIT, this chapter really sucked. Again, I've got a bad case of Writer's Block, and everything that I come up with seems like shit to me. I spent about forty-five minutes fucking with that last long paragraph, trying to re-word it, and, oh, it was a mess! So I apologize, but hopefully I get rid of my disease soon. Flowers and chocolates always help (but reviews work best =)).

Also, I wanted to propose something. I feel very bad that I've been leaving you, my faithful readers, on cliffies every single chapter, as well as the fact that I've been seriously stalling (insert Mindy joke here) the...what should we call it...well...the part in which Vlad and Danny are BOTH conscious at the same time...together. So, I wanted to start updating this story twice a week instead of once every friday (or saturday, because it's always after 12:00), however, I would first like to make sure you people WANT me to do that, so please let me know if you do. And if enough people beg for it, I'll update as usual on saturday and then once on either wednesday or thursday.

Thank you for the reviews and all the support for this story. It's always greatly appreciated.

~VC


	10. Chapter 10

Jazz Fenton sped down the road that led into Amity Park in her rundown car. She swore that at the speed she was going the car would be stripped of its rusted parts by the time she actually arrived, that was, if she actually arrived without having an accident and killing herself. She felt the car's inner workings quiver uncertainly, heard the nuts and bolts bounce and jingle merrily as they intermingled. As she sped around icy bends of road or stopped her car at a light, she became certain she would die. She would get into an accident on these frozen streets, or the car would completely give up and fall apart in the middle of the road, and that would be the end of her, because God knew she wouldn't be able to regain whatever control she had in this car if she were to lose it. But she never slowed down once, because she was not concerned about her health. She was only concerned about Danny.

Of course she knew that whatever was going on had something to do with ghosts. Whenever she found herself in the middle of an argument between Danny and their parents about his slipping grades and the calls they received regularly that he'd skipped out of final period again, arguments caused simply because Danny couldn't _afford_ to keep his grades up or make it to school, she found herself realizing that if it were not for the constant distraction of these ghosts Danny might be as studious as her, because he was smart, and he could apply himself if he was given the time. But that wasn't the full extent of the trouble these ghosts got him into, because, truthfully, she found herself feeling thankful when an argument between Danny and her parents was all that he had to deal with in a day. Now that Danny had started to accept her help more after the whole incident with Vlad and the Ecto suit, she found her phone constantly ringing with his or Tucker's or Sam's ambiguous pleas for help when they were engaged in battle with one of the ghosts. And while they always managed to pull through, how many times had they almost managed to get themselves killed fighting off ghosts? How many times had she had to speed to an alleyway or to the mall or the like after receiving this call with the impending fear that the ghost her brother was fighting was not merely the Box Ghost or Klemper but rather someone like Vlad Plasmius, someone serious?

And serious Vlad was. When his mind was set on something, when he had a purpose, a goal, nothing, no matter how cumbersome or tenacious, got in his way. However, unfortunately for her own safety and peace of mind, her little brother had seemed to make a habit of thwarting Vlad's plans, and when her phone tolled endlessly she thought what she always did: Vlad found him and defeated him, he took him away and is going to do God knows what with him and Tucker and Sam are calling to ask my help to find him and bring him back. But the truth was that the idea that it might be Vlad Danny fought rather than someone like Johnny 13 or Spectra brought such relief because she held the knowledge that Vlad, unlike any other ghost, would not kill Danny. Unlike Johnny 13 or Spectra, who wanted nothing more than to see Danny dead and out of the picture, Vlad's ultimate goal was much more humane but much more pathetic, she'd thought when Danny told her about the incident with this clone Vlad had created of him—he wanted Danny as his perfect half-ghost son. And while he might need to hurt Danny, he would never be able to kill him if he were to accomplish this. And this brought such peace to her on the occasions when she was able to attain that it was, in fact, Vlad inflicting the damage because she knew her little brother wouldn't be becoming a full ghost anytime soon.

However, she was never certain who exactly it was her brother and her—more or less—forced friends were battling, and she could never be completely at peace. Driving to the places where these battles went down she looked as she did now. Her turquoise-colored eyes wide and fearful, her body tense and rigid, convulsing in sporadic waves, because she never knew, just as she didn't know now.

She had reached Amity Park driving in this fashion, which she was thankful for because she thought that if she had to spend another moment in anticipation she was going to scream, cry, throw up, or perhaps a combination of all three. She was also in complete shock that she had managed the drive without killing herself, especially because she had not been paying attention to the road or to her own driving whatsoever, for she was lost in thought about her brother, hoping—and it felt so odd—that it was Vlad he fought, praying for him, even though she was not religious and strongly supported Darwin's theory of evolution. But perhaps that had been why she had not killed herself—not focusing on the drive—because she had found oddly enough that when she did not pay attention to what she was supposed to be doing she did it twice as well.

She drove more slowly now as she entered the town, which was completely silent and still in the dead of the night. She passed under the glowing lamplights that lined the street—what was typically considered to be their main street—on each side as she headed to Fenton Works. A little ways past this area of the town there was a wooded area that surrounded a treeless patch of land on which was a park, which she had to pass in order to get to Fenton Works. As she drove past this rural part of the town, it was dark enough that she could only clearly make out what appeared directly in her headlights. Then, like a cheap scare out of some horror movie, a small, lanky figure darted in front of her car and stood there, the literal representation of the clichéd term "a deer in the headlights." Jazz screeched and slammed on the brakes to avoid hitting the figure, who she just narrowly missed. She lurched forward, realizing that the last time she'd had the car inspected she'd learned the airbags did not work, but she was miraculously not hurt, like her car which sat in the middle of the road, idle but intact. She sat, unmoving, in the car, shaking, her eyes wide with fear. Then, someone began to pound with their fists on the outside of the passenger door.

"Hey, let me in! Quick! He's coming for me!" came the panicked voice from outside, a high voice, a young voice.

"Who are you?" Jazz asked, her voice equally as frantic and unstable.

"Please, just let me in! I'm going to be killed!"

Jazz reached over and pushed the unlock button and pulled back quickly and nervously. The door opened suddenly and a small girl wearing an oversized blue sweatshirt, red shorts, a red hat, and scuffed tennis shoes spilled in. She gripped the door handle tightly and slammed the door shut behind her hastily. Her black hair hung in front of her widened eyes, and from beneath those locks of hair a steady stream of blood trickled down her face from her forehead. Her clothes were soaked in blood, specifically around her stomach area, and her face was scraped and black and blue with bruises. She stole a glance at Jazz, then turned in the direction of the park, then back at Jazz again.

"Please! We've got to get out of here!"

"Who are you? What happened to you?" Jazz cried in horror.

"Vlad's going to kill me! Please! He's coming! I see him!" she cried, and pointed out the window on the driver's side.

Jazz looked out the window and saw Vlad Plasmius charging toward the car, his face twisted in rage, a blast of pink energy charged in both his palms, screaming, _"Get back here, you little bitch!"_

Jazz turned back toward the road and slammed down on the gas pedal.

* * *

><p>AN:

I hate cheap scares! Me and my girlfriend saw this movie a few days ago called The Woman in Black and that was all it god damn was! A bunch of cheap scares!

Danny: Yeah, I'm way scarier than that sh*t!

Me: I know you are, baby, let's make out.

Danny: No, the only goth girl I'd do that with is Sam.

Me: Fuck you.

Danny: No, like I just said, I'd only do that with Sam.

Me: -_-

Well, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I hope you enjoy this story because I'm going to be updating this twice a week now, and I hope you appreciate me for this because I have school tomorrow and I'm going to be tired now.

Kiss my ass (just kidding, seriously)

~VC


	11. Chapter 11

Vlad Plasmius came to a stop near the edge of the forested area as he watched the battered car speed down the darkened road and out of sight. He stared after it, at its vanishing point, his face frozen in awe and bewilderment. His body was stiff and erect, unmoving, but he found himself shuddering in sporadic, uncontrolled waves, and whether it was from the frigid night air or the rage slowly beginning to ignite inside him he was not sure.

"_Jasmine_," he whispered, and a low growl arose from his throat as he tried to suppress this increasing anger. "I wouldn't have expected any better of her."

And why should he expect any better of Jasmine Fenton? What had she done other than manage to continuously foil his plans, openly disrespect him with threats to harm and kill him, and betray him? But, in all honestly, how could she have betrayed him when there was never anything, any relationship or bond formed between them, to betray? There had never been something, anything, between them, because, if he was perfectly frank, her coming to his castle with the plea to stay there and become his perfect daughter had only been a cry out for one thing: Daniel's affection. And what was more, the only reason he'd even allowed her to merely set foot in his castle was because he wanted that same thing. _Daniel's affection_. So the idea that there had been affection for each other to ruin was ignorant and crude. Because the truth was he would never care for her. Never.

Perhaps it had been foolish—stupid, even—to allow her to come into his life for even that brief period of time. But as always, he had his mind set on that ultimate goal, that perpetual desire for a half-ghost son, for _Daniel_, and somehow—someway—it had occurred to him that through Jasmine, he might finally get just that. And no one would ever be able to fully comprehend just how many times he had pondered the possibility of using one of them, Jasmine or Samantha or Tucker or perhaps even Jack and Maddie, to force Daniel to obey him, so when she'd shown up at his doorstep that day, it had been as if he'd been sent an angle from heaven—that was, if he believed there _was _a heaven. How could he not take her in with the idea that Daniel might be his turning around in the back of his mind?

His plan had been simple. He would lure Jasmine into a false sense of security by treating her as if he actually wanted her, listening to her rant on about how awful her family (but mostly Daniel) was and pretending he actually cared about what she had to say—that, and suppressing the urge to reach over the dining room table, china knife in hand, to slit her throat because she had talked about _his _Daniel in such a manner, something he found to be only his right when he found it necessary—, providing for her as if he actually cared about her wellbeing, whether or not she got into the college she wanted, until she felt so close to him that she would never expect to be used as a hostage in order to have his demands met. Daniel would receive a little call, a letter maybe, saying that he would kill her in the most inhumane way possible, saying that he would put her in a box and bury her in the ground, still alive and screaming, saying that he would strap her down onto a metal examination table and slice her open and perform a small autopsy while she was, of course, still alive, and still screaming, unless he came and submitted to his demands, which were simply that he remain there with him and be his forever. If he did, she would go free, but would always have her head beneath a guillotine's blade, one that teetered above her precariously with Daniel's every defiant dictum and undertaking, whether she knew it or not. But that blade would never fall, because within those first few months he would have lulled Daniel into a state of security, one that was so pure and most certainly not fabricated that he would never feel the _need_ to remark or act defiantly.

But, of course, things had not gone as planned. Daniel had not come to him willingly, but had rather been brought to him forcefully in a box similar to the one he would have placed Jasmine in if he would not comply—perhaps a coffin would have worked better, but he would never know. Plans changed, because he realized within the span of a few moments of receiving Daniel that perhaps it would be better to evaluate him before he took him under his wing. It was not, of course, an evaluation of his power against the Ecto suit, because Vlad was acutely aware that if Daniel truly desired to, he could destroy the device within moments. Instead, he would evaluate Daniel on an emotional level. He would attain whether or not Daniel was capable of doing something he would consider to be "evil" in order to survive, if he was able to take his own sister's life to defend his. And Vlad would use this as a test to see how much work Daniel would need once he took him in before they could begin fighting and conquering together, because it didn't matter if Daniel was incapable, if he lost. If Daniel was not mentally strong enough to kill Jasmine, then _he_ would, and their task to toughen him up would begin. But, of course, things _never_ went as planned.

Never.

Vlad sighed softly, his harsh features collapsing, as he stared at the place the car had gone. "I've hurt her enough. Danielle will die without further help from me," he remarked, "because I doubt that that wench Jasmine has any way to heal her…" He paused, and the pale features of his ghost half paled further. "Oh, god…oh my god, Danny, my little badger, _Danny_..."

From inside her car, both Jazz and Dani heard his shriek, the shriek of a woman banshee in a misty swamp whose husband went to war and never returned.

* * *

><p>AN:

I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I sincerely hope you review. I think the first thing I told you guys was how much I wanted feedback, so please leave some. I feel like I could be doing better, so please offer up suggestions or comments. And again, I appologize that Danny is not awake yet, but with updating twice a week, we'll get there much faster.

I have such a fascination with premature burial. I have no idea where it comes from but I guess it's why I like that movie "Buried" so much...and Edgar Allan Poe...and Creature Feature...

_I can't explain, just how it feels, the thoughts of my, premature burial, inside this, oblong box I lie, with the hopes, of being, buried alive..._

God dammit.

~VC


	12. Chapter 12

When she felt they had driven far enough away from the place they had seen Vlad Plasmius, Jazz Fenton slammed on the brakes and allowed her car to sit idle in the middle of the road on which they drove. Even after they had stopped, Jazz did not let go of the steering wheel, and clung to it with her clammy palms. She sat shaking in the driver's seat, staring at the road ahead of her, her eyes wide and frightened, her face so pale it looked as if she had applied white makeup. For a moment, she did not move.

Beside her in the passenger's seat, Dani Phantom was also completely still, but she shook so violently that the looser mechanisms of the car actually _quivered_. Her hands still gripped the sides of her seat desperately, her dirty, unclipped fingernails clawing into the old leather, leaving dark traces of dampness and blood. But she was staring at Jazz, eyeing her in suspicion and unease, wondering if she, too, would attack her, preparing to jerk the door open and flee from the car if she found it necessary.

Jazz jerked her gaze away from the road suddenly and turned to face Dani, who started back in fear and shrunk away. Jazz's breathing was rapid and short, as is that of someone gasping for air—in fact, she was not breathing as she studied Dani, she was hyperventilating. She leaned toward Dani, her eyes filled with something like insanity, as if her fear had driven her into a state of madness. Before Dani could pull away, Jazz reached out and gripped her shoulders with a pair of surprisingly strong, unrelenting hands. Dani cringed and began to struggle desperately, and only did she cease when Jazz began: "Why was Vlad Masters chasing you?"

Dani froze and gazed at her with wide, disbelieving eyes. "Did you just say Vlad _Masters_?" she gasped in the same breath-deprived manner as Jazz.

"Why does it matter?" Jazz cried in dismay.

"How could you have known the ghost chasing me was Vlad_ Masters_?"

"I don't understand…"

"What you saw chasing me was a ghost, but Vlad _Masters_ is a person. Why would you have called the ghost Vlad Masters?"

"Because Vlad Masters is the ghost! He's half human, half ghost—Vlad Masters _and_ Vlad Plasmius!"

"But how could you have known that?" Dani exclaimed. "The only other person who knows is…"

Dani's eyes became wider still as she stared at Jazz. Her mouth fell agape.

"Is your name Jazz?" Dani spoke softly, her voice filled with disbelief and uncertainty.

Slowly, Jazz nodded.

"You're Danny Fenton's sister."

Jazz's eyes became wider, seemingly bulging with fear as she stared at Dani, and her mouth fell open slightly.

"How do you know my brother?" Jazz screamed frantically, and began to shake Dani violently.

"He saved me from Vlad! My name is Dani!"

And Jazz stopped shaking her and stared into her eyes.

"You're his clone, aren't you? He told me Vlad created a clone…" she whispered slowly.

Dani nodded thankfully as Jazz let her hands fall away. She watched as Jazz pulled back and turned away from her, resting her elbows on the steering wheel and burying her face in her hands as she started to cry.

"What was he doing to you?" she moaned into her hands. "What was he doing now?"

"He might have been trying to kill me, but I wasn't the one he was looking for. He was _surprised_ when he saw me."

Jazz did not look at Dani. She could only shake her head in unrelenting despair.

"Then he was looking for my brother."

"Where is he, Jazz?"

"I don't know. His friends called me and told me he was in trouble."

"Oh my god, Jazz, we need to find him," Dani groaned. "Vlad could have set up anything. Just because he was here doesn't mean that he hasn't already hurt Danny. He could have hired someone…"

Suddenly, Jazz slammed her foot down on the gas pedal and the car lurched forward as they began to speed down the road once again. Dani clung to the passenger seat as she groped for a seat buckle. When she found it, she fastened it and pushed herself against the seat's back, bracing herself as Jazz barreled down the road in her decrepit car, risking her life to save her brother's.

* * *

><p>AN:

I am so sorry this is as short as it is, but I have been feeling very ill lately and incapable of writing anything that isn't shit, so I didn't want to tackle anything too huge with this chapter and ruin what could be a good part of the story. Instead, this is somewhat a little interlude chapter. I hope the wording of the chapter isn't confusing, because god knows I confused myself when I read it over, but I, no matter how hard I tried, could not find a way to rephrase it. So I'm sorry, and I promise the next chapter will be better. Hopefully.

~VC


	13. Chapter 13

When Vlad arrived at Asa and Althea's remote part of the Ghost Zone yet again, he was heavy with weariness and unease as he fixed his gaze on the darkened window of the room that he had brought Daniel to and left there. His heart fluttered in his chest with anticipation, the way a child's does the night before Christmas morning when he knows there will be gifts beneath the tree with his name on them. Save, of course, the fact that this anticipation was not joyous excitement—it was dread. For, he undoubtedly believed that his inability to control his own actions had killed Daniel. He believed that Daniel, the one person he finally admitted to truly caring about, was lying dead on that slab of stone, his body already cooling and the color draining from his once fair skin, all because he couldn't resist the temptation of dealing with Dani once and for all. He felt so weak, without any self-restraint. He had given into that urge to do what he had been longing to do for an immeasurable period of time without even considering the consequences. Impulsive—that was what he was, and there was no denying that. And what he had done certainly did have, or so it seemed was the most logical and safest thing to believe—dire consequences. And there was absolutely no going back now.

He looked down at his gloved hands and stared at the tiny, leafy sprig of green foliage. He sighed. This was the plant that was supposed to save Daniel's life, and he had ruined it in the fight with Dani. It had been very easy to find, nevertheless, as, consequently, it grew in wooded areas such as the one located just on the outskirts of the town of Amity Park, a forest where the newly fallen snow was pink and dissolving beneath the bodies of the entirety of a pack of wolves, still alive—but just barely—and suffering. The plant was manhandled, its leafs torn and oozing the plant's fluids softly, sagging and wilting. If he did not get this plant to Asa and Althea soon, anything it contained that could potentially help Daniel would simply ooze out, rendering it a useless, wasteful hull. And Daniel, _his _Daniel, would be, if he was not already, dead and gone. And if that happened, or if that was so, he was unsure of what he would do.

He walked to the front door again, cradling his plant with the same tenderness he had Daniel only a few hours ago—though it seemed like years in all truthfulness—despite the fact that he knew it was useless to him now. He should have knocked, and perhaps he might have, but the temptation to drive his boot into the door yet again where he'd previously dented it was simply too great. He was unaware of it, but beneath his undying despair there was a greater anger, anger at himself, at Jack, and even at Maddie, that needed to be satisfied. He kicked the door hard enough that the wood splintered beneath his boot, but he felt no guilt. He heard footsteps inside the palace come to door, but they were not courteously slow and dainty. Instead, they were hasty and heavy, as if this person were running to the door…

Althea was. She jerked open the door and gazed at Vlad with wild, frantic eyes. Her hair was a mess, her robes askew, and she was covered in the grime of plants and dirt. How she could have gone from the composed, neutral woman he'd seen four or so hours before to this wreck of a girl, Vlad did not know, but he was frightened and appalled. It seemed to indicate to him that the worst had happened, what he'd been dreading but had known from the very start was inevitable.

Althea looked to be about to say something when Vlad interrupted with morbid eyes, "He's dead, isn't he? My Daniel is dead."

"No!" she gasped, and shook her head. "No, Danny is most certainly _not_ dead. But please, hurry in."

Vlad stepped into the castle and stared into her bloodshot eyes. "What would be the problem then, Miss Althea?"

She paid no mind to his comment and placed her rough hands on his back to hurry him along and up the stairs. "Did you get the herbs we asked for?" she said quickly. "Come on, Asa is waiting."

He began the long climb up the winding staircase with her. "Yes, I've got it. But I doubt it will be of much help to you now," he said, and held it out to her.

She took it between her pointer finger and her thumb delicately. "What happened to it?"

"It got caught in the crossfire of...well, I suppose that isn't important, is it? I wrecked it. Does that mean he dies?"

"No! No, of course not. We've never lost one person who's come to us and we won't lose Danny." She glanced at the herb again. "And it is important, because I'd begun to worry that you'd been hurt as you hadn't returned in so long."

"Worried about me?"

"I…" she paused, blushing in embarrassment. "Of course I was, for if you'd gotten hurt you'd be one more person I'd have to heal."

Vlad said nothing and continued to stare morbidly ahead of him.

"Who did you engage in battle with?" Althea asked quickly, her eyes avoiding his.

"The same person who ruined my plans and the clone of…the child I wanted as my son."

Althea stared down at the sprig. "Will it pay off, do you know? The battle?"

"Unless Daniel dies, it will be as insignificant as that sprig."

"The sprig is not insignificant, even in its current state, but I can assure you your battle will be."

"Where are you taking me?"

"To help as we heal your son."

Vlad turned to stare at her with prying eyes. "I never told you he was my son."

"He is not?"

Vlad hesitated for a moment, then said, "He is."

Althea nodded gently, turned away and continued up the stairs.

"But how did you know?" Vlad asked slowly.

"This constant desire to care for him, the dedication," she said, turning to Vlad, "is a dead giveaway. The extent you are willing to go to keep him alive is an extent only a father would go to for his child."

With that, she began to walk up the stairs again. Vlad followed her to the room in which his son lay on a stone table, being healed.


	14. Chapter 14

When Vlad walked in and saw Danny lying on the stone table, he had to pause as disbelief flooded him. It was not that Danny looked any less dead, because he did not. He was lying there with the same stillness as a corpse, just as he had been when Vlad had left. But in this, Vlad became so awestricken because his body lying there on the slab in the way it did reminded him exactly of Snow White as she lay in her glass coffin after biting into that fateful apple. His skin was just as pale as hers, if not paler, and he lay in the same manner as she, his legs and feet neatly together, and his hands folded over his chest as if his body had been manipulated to look ready to greet his friends and family at his wake as they passed by his casket. As the sun shown down on him through the window, illuminating his dead features as it had Snow White. Vlad stood amazed.

"Are you already getting ready to lay him out in a coffin, Asa?" he questioned with a certain slowness.

Asa spun around. He'd been distractedly picking at the tiny plants that grew in the crumbling red-clay pots when Vlad stepped in. His calloused hands were smeared with dirt and the fluid that flowed through the small plants that had oozed onto his fingers when he'd started to tear them into tinier bits of green foliage.

He looked stunned to see Vlad, as if he had not expected him to return at all. Asa's face was filled with undiluted surprise. But Vlad also saw something else in those eyes, something he'd never seen before. Asa's hands showed it as well—uneasiness.

"No!" Asa said, and Vlad could hear that uneasy—even frightened—nature he had about him in his voice. "He's not dead. I've been waiting for you to return to heal him."

"The way you've laid him out," Vlad said, "I get the impression that he's already died."

"When you _dropped_ him onto the table he looked like an animal lying on the side of a highway after it has been hit by a truck. I didn't want to leave him in that manner until you came back."

"…I didn't drop him," Vlad said very quietly as he stared at Danny's unmoving body atop the stone table.

It was then that Althea stepped in. To Asa, it was apparent from the glance she gave him, one of reprimanding anger, that she planned to defend Plasmius. He could see it in her, by the way she stood with her back mostly to him, but turned enough that she could regard him with soft, sympathetic eyes.

"Asa," she said very sternly, her eyes hard and cold and fixated on his, "you know he didn't _drop _Danny. And I do agree with him, Danny does look like he's being laid out for his funeral."

"Maybe that's appropriate, Mr. Plasmius, as you seem to think I have an unlimited amount of time to save him," Asa snapped.

"_You're _the one who told him you were incapable of losing a patient!" Althea said, her face suddenly filling with uncontrolled rage that neither Vlad nor Asa had seen before. "What did you _expect _would happen? Why should he rush here when he has the knowledge that you can heal Danny no matter his own actions? That was what you told him. So why not test you? Why not see if you're really capable of keeping your word? And how do we know that wasn't exactly what he was doing?"

"_You're _the one who keeps insisting how much Plasmius cares for the Ghost Boy! Why would he risk the child's life simply to _test me_?" Asa exclaimed.

"Maybe Mr. Plasmius wouldn't, but anyone else in the same situation would have. This is what happens when you're so egotistical you can't even recognize your own limitations!"

"Don't speak to me that way, _woman_! I won't have you lecturing me about my ego!"

"You need to hear this! You can't keep going about this with this kind of attitude!"

"That isn't for you to decide! You serve me!"

"_I most certainly do_ not!"

As Vlad watched them, he felt anger beginning to boil inside him with alarming rapidness. It seemed to be the first instance since he'd discovered Daniel lying unconscious in the woods and surrounded by a pack of hungry wolves that he felt anything other than bleak hopelessness which came across as an uncaring dullness to anyone who was not aware of the circumstances. He now felt what he felt when he had heard Daniel speak those words, "_They tried to kill me_,"—they, of course, being his parents. His wretched, wretched parents. It was an incomprehensible amount of rage that was just barely contained. And now, this emotion stronger than ever, it escaped. He voiced what he felt then, and he did not stutter or falter when he did so:

"Quiet!" he screamed first, drawing the attention of Asa and Althea to him and away from their feud. Before them was not that quiet, timid, hopeless and lonely man that had knocked on their door only hours ago—they could both see it in his face: an evil buried beneath the sorrow, a soul that had been long consumed by his own hatred and scorn for those around him. This was a man who loved no one, who could not, for his anger and spitefulness had pushed everyone away. And Asa and Althea could see that, very clearly. They knew there was only one side to Vlad Plasmius, and it was this they saw now. It became apparent that the loving and dedicated side of him they'd seen before had only surfaced at prospect of the child's death. This side of him had never emerged before.

Vlad disregarded their frightened and shocked looks, and began, "I don't suppose you two realize what I have gone through tonight for this boy. I've ran back and forth between the Ghost Zone and the real world multiple times, scoured the woods in complete darkness for some indistinctive plant, challenged the little _bitch _who got in my way, and now that I've run through all your hoops and retrieved the plant to save my boy, you two decide to stand here and argue about your _fucking ego _while he lies here dying. _Well, I didn't go through everything for him to die just so you can resolve your problems! It doesn't work like that! I don't dedicate myself to something to see it fail! I've spent so many months of blood, sweat and tears trying to win Daniel's trust, and now that I have it, you intend to let him die! Well you won't! I won't goddam let you!"_

With that, Vlad charged a glowing pink energy blast in his hand and watched as Asa and Althea began to back away.

* * *

><p>AN:

Hi, everyone. I know it's been so long since I updated, and I'm really sorry. I was very busy with end-of-the-term tests, and then on spring break I went on vacation to San Francisco. Hopefully, I'll be able to update more in the future. I'm planning to start updating twice a week like a promised in some author's note in some story, can't remember which though.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and please let me know what you think. I always appreciate all the reviews and favorites.

Before I type that little squiggly line thingy, I wanna tell you all that my hair is now shorter than Danny's. I didn't think it be possible. What makes it even cooler is that I put blonde highlights in, and my hair was already so light it now looks white. So when I style it right I'm almost like a female Danny Phantom. XD.

~VC


	15. Chapter 15

When Jazz and Dani finally arrived at Fenton works, the moon was just beginning to retreat to the safety of the skyline as the sun chased it there rapidly. The sky was fading from a deep purple to a velvety red, then an extravagant orange before their eyes as daylight approached. Even as her mind raced with questions and concerns regarding the safety of her baby brother, Jazz found herself briefly astonished that it was already morning. Despite the sheer busyness of that night and the numerous events that had taken place from nine o' clock pm to four-thirty in the morning, she still felt that it had been only a few hours ago she had left for the middle school. _Where did all the time go?_, she thought distractedly as she parked her car in the street in front of her home. She did not, of course, have an explanation to appease her own curiosity, but it did not seem to matter the moment she heard a scream coming from inside Fenton Works. A woman's scream. A girl's.

"Sam!" Jazz yelped suddenly as she scrambled to evacuate her car. Slamming the car door with such force that the icy crackle of the window's glass shattering resonated as she exited the vehicle, Jazz said, "_Oh my god, _what the _hell _is going _on _in there?"

"Is that Danny's best friend?" Dani asked frantically, her eyes beginning to well with tears.

"Yes!" Jazz cried. "Oh my god, we have to-"

Just then, Sam's defiant and resistant but still extremely frightened screech sounded inside the now darkened building. _Do what you want to me, _she shrieked, _but I'll _never _tell you where he is! I—_ The sound of a knife slashing swiftly through skin, followed by a screech of uncompromised agony.

Jazz and Dani gasped in horror as another scream followed, this time the voice belonging to an adolescent boy. _Don't you touch her! _the boy said. _Don't you goddam touch— _That sound of skin being cut quickly and smoothly came again, and then the resulting howl.

"_Tucker_!" Jazz shrieked, and in an instant of panic, she charged toward the front door, slamming into it with such force that she caused it to collapse inward, without, of course, stopping for even a small moment to evaluate her options and to determine what would have been the smartest and most logical course of action.

Dani, panicking and unsure of what to do, followed Jazz's lead and ran up the stone steps leading to the door and collapsed suddenly next to Jazz.

Both girls looked up simultaneously as two looming figures suddenly appeared in the doorway in front of them. Jazz stared into the cold and vindictive eyes of her mother and father as they frowned down at their daughter and the small girl laying beside her. In the hazy light of that morning, Jazz did not see the blood that covered her parents, did not see the Fenton machete in her mother's hand until it caught a ray of sunlight and glinted. Their eyes widened in horror as Mr. and Mrs. Fenton grabbed them and hauled them inside the house, covering Jazz's and Dani's mouths with their hands to muffle their screams.


	16. Chapter 16

A/N:

Hello, again, everyone. Again, long absenses, which I do sincerely apologize for. During the summer I really get into reading my Stephen King novels, and it's hard to write, or do anything else, for that matter, when you get a good one. And boy, did I get a good one.

Misery.

I got it maybe last thursday, and I haven't been able to put it down since. I have to say, this might be my all time favorite novel he's written; I'm in love with the character of Annie Wilkes, the story is absolutely amazing, and it really resonates with me, being that I'm a writer. I kinda wish that if I ever do end up writing something good, one of my deranged fans will kidnap me and force me to write a book just for them. I'd feel strangely honored, probably even turned on, especially if it was someone like Annie Wilkes...well, I'm rambling now. All you need to take from this paragraph is that the reason I have not updated is because Stephen King has corrupted my young mind. It's his fault. Write angry letters to him, not me.

For that reason, I'm actually pretty proud of this chapter, being that I was able to actually WRITE it. It was especially hard because I had the Misery book staring at me the whole time. I could almost hear Annie calling, "Kate, just pick up the book, your fan fictions are _cockadoodie_ anyway, you'll never be as good as Paulie here, or Stephen King for that matter, just pick up the book and forget it."

God help me.

~ILoveAnnieWilkes,She'sAmazing

* * *

><p>Asa and Althea backed away from Vlad Plasmius as he slowly and menacingly began to approach them with the glowing ball of energy in his palms. Vlad's lips were twisted in a snarl, easily exposing his blindingly white fangs. The color of his eyes amplified; those eyes of neutral red became two bright burning hellfires. His left eye twitched upward, his nostrils pulled into a flare. The veins on his neck and forehead protruded freakishly from the skin and throbbed.<p>

It did not occur to Asa or Althea then that they were the only two beings, dead or otherwise, to see Vlad in such a state of total paroxysm. It was not that no one had ever witnessed Vlad in a state of rage, because they had; if Danny had been awake, he would have been able to confirm that first hand. But even in rage, Vlad was still _composed. _No matter how angry he was, that sly smile always crossed his lips and his eyes always glinted with a sort of condescension, that _I may be angry, but I know how to fix that _sort of look. He was always able to throw out some cunning remark, put up some sort of protection, make some distraction. It was not that he wasn't angry, for he was, on some occasions even _livid_-it was that he knew how to make it _seem _as though he weren't angry.

But today, in the presence of the two tired healers, this skill seemed to have been forgotten. Perhaps the effectiveness of this tactic was crippled by Danny's newfound and silent ability to unravel Vlad's sanity, thus rendering this layer of protection as useless as a guitar with no strings. Yes, Danny had unraveled his sanity, if he'd ever had any, and indirectly, because what he _really_ had unraveled was Vlad's composure. And without that composure, all those demons he kept, those horrid, humiliating things that shown most strongly though his emotions, rose from the depths of hell and pasted themselves to his face like freakish masks, inviting those around him to watch, and watch only, as he partook in his one-man masquerade.

And _dance_ did he now, that mask abiding. But now it seemed that he would not have to dance alone, because Asa and Althea had not exactly adapted any type of poker-face themselves. Althea looked visibly more frightened than Asa, but that was not saying much; like the woman who was now shrinking away and cowering behind him, those dirty and unmanicured finger nails digging into his shoulder, Asa's eyes were wide with horror, his mouth hanging open and the bottom lip quivering. Asa, however, seemed to be calculating, his mind racing to discover the key to saving them from certain death, or whatever the hell it was that came after the second death (purgatory, Asa thought briefly, and would have laughed if he wasn't so frightened).

Althea was not thinking, and that was painfully obvious; her eyes were affixed to those burning hellfires, and she looked almost transfixed. No, she _was _transfixed, and it became obvious to Asa that she would offer him no help in placating the monster before them-if anything, she would only get in his way, typical of that time-old, cliched damsel-in-distress, who seemed to serve no purpose other than as a reward, one which would be issued into the late hours of the night and would most likely hold no place in the author's story, which was pressured to be kept "kid-friendly".

And because he knew she would not be the one getting them out of this, he picked up his sword, got on his noble steed, and worked up the courage to say, although not very loudly, "Mr. Plasmius, please..."

But that was as far as he managed to get, because the glowing pink blast Vlad had cupped in the palm of his hand came crashing into Asa's chest and sent him flying backward, causing Althea to lose her balance and tumble back with him. Althea fell onto the wall behind them and hit her head. Her knees buckled and her body slid down the wall and then slumped against it when unconsciousness overtook her. Asa gasped and rushed to her, crying, "Althea, my darling!"

He had almost reached her when another blast came.


	17. Chapter 17

A/N: OMG, I wrote this entire chapter listening to Heavy Metal Lover over and over...I'm so gaga for Gaga.

...Hmm, that has absolutely nothing to do with this chapter or Danny Phantom.

I hope everyone likes this chapter, and I hope more of you review, otherwise I'm considering giving up on this one...I promise I'm going to be updating more often! So please let me know what you think or I might have to stop this one.

~VC

* * *

><p>This blast Vlad Plasmius fired sailed effortlessly into the harried healer's clad back, and Asa tumbled forward, on top of Althea who lay unconscious against the stone wall. With a cry he fell, and felt guiltily when he found himself thankful that he'd had the unconscious girl to cushion his fall. However, he was not unscathed.<p>

Vlad Plasmius observed the gaping hole he'd put into the man's back monotonously, seemingly unfazed by the waxy shreds of his Asa's robe that surrounded the hole that were now embedded in the torn flesh and were absorbing the blood like a dry sponge would water. He watched as Asa laid on top of Althea as if they were two lovers—and maybe they were, he did not know nor did he frankly care—and he'd caught them in the act, at first motionless. Then, he stirred with a moan and slowly climbed to his feet, briefly startling and even impressing Vlad, though his face never showed it. He watched the man with soulless, cold eyes that held no emotion, his arms crossed over his chest composedly, waiting for Asa to make the next move.

The healer climbed to his feet, panting, gripping his chest, regarding Vlad with frightened, panicked eyes, the eyes of a mouse that is cornered by a cat and knows it has no chance for survival.

"P-please," Asa begged, gasping, "Please, M-Mr. P-Plasmius, r-remember—"

But his words were swallowed by another blast, this one colliding into the man's chest, tearing the robe in the same fashion and embedding it into the soft, blood-soaked flesh. He shrieked as he tumbled back to the ground, again landing on poor Althea, who still did not stir. Vlad regarded this injury with that same expression, completely unfazed, uncaring, and impatiently, looking as a man looks when he has no particular interest in the business meeting he has attended but finds himself unable to leave until he has seen it through.

Asa's injury was severe, and the battered healer noted this. He did not condone the rather spectacular depth and width of the holes Vlad Plasmius had placed in his stomach and lower back; he knew enough not to. Vlad, however, could only wonder _why _there was anything left of his midsection at all.

Asa again climbed to his feet, broken but somehow determined, as if his goal was now not to live himself but rather to breathe life, _give_ life. He saw the young Danny Phantom, the Ghost Boy, lying motionlessly on the stone table and told himself he would not persist in this fashion to save his own life but this child's, because in him he sensed a desirable soul, a clean, _pure_ soul, so much more so than his own. If he were to die and the child was to live, Asa thought he could die in peace. It would be an injustice, he thought, to sacrifice the life of someone who could carry out his work so much better than he was ever capable of doing for his own unclean soul.

He clutched his chest, blood spotting the sleeves of his robe, and said, for the Ghost Boy, "V-Vlad! H-Have y-you forgotten?"

Vlad raised an eyebrow, but otherwise remained cool and emotionless. "Forgotten?" he said tonelessly, almost as if he were stating rather than inquiring.

"Yes!" Asa cried, gasping, groping at his chest helplessly. "W-why y-you're h-here?"

"No," Vlad said, his expression unchanging. "I'm fully aware. But I'm also aware that you plan to jeopardize everything I have worked for, and I will not allow for that to happen."

"V-Vlad, y-you d-don't seem to _u-understand_! I s-should have n-never allowed myself to b-become distracted a-as I d-did, but p-punishing me n-now will d-do no g-good! I c-can't s-save him if I'm d-dead!"

Vlad's face changed then; the pale mask of sobriety shattered and fell away from his face, unveiling an expression of uncompromised horror.

_I can't save him if I'm dead._

_Him._

Vlad Plasmius had, in his typical fashion, gone about the task of "resurrecting" Danny as if it were a challenge, a simple game at which he must win. In this game, there seemed to be three key players—there was him, and there were Danny's parents. There was a goal; there was not _Danny_. Danny _was _the goal, and that remained constant. But the _intent _differed for each player, Vlad's intent of course being to save him, his parents—if they were searching—to kill him. And in this game, there were obstacles. These obstacles also differed from player to player. For him, obstacles were not only places and things but people as well. Dani, Jazz, and now it looked like Asa and Althea also fit into this category.

As the game went on, it became more difficult to see Danny as anything other than the goal—what he sought after. He was not firing blasts at the two healers for Danny. He had not trekked back and forth between worlds for Danny. He had not scoured the forest for a minuscule plant for Danny. He had not fought Dani for Danny. He had done it because Danny was his _goal_. He had not thought of Danny as _him _since he'd gotten back from his trip to the world of the living. And it seemed that all it had taken to see Danny as _Danny _once again was to _hear_ it, that one simple pronoun.

As he donned that expression of unchanging horror, he thought, _Oh, Danny, my little badger, where did you go? How could I have let_ _you wander off?_

Vlad Plasmius did not know where he'd gone or _how_, but he did realize _what _was going to happen because of it. Because he'd been so obsessed with overcoming those obstacles as he found was necessary for any proper victory, he'd completely overlooked the goal _itself_. He'd overlooked _Danny_, and because of it, he now saw as he looked down at the unconscious female and the dying male, he'd finalized Daniel's death.

He would not reach the goal. He would not reach _Danny_.


	18. Chapter 18

There was blood.

Jazz Fenton did not notice the crimson substance that coated the room first. She did not see the blood collecting in pools beneath the chairs Tucker and Sam had been tied to, did not notice the blood coating the walls behind these same chairs, did not take note of the blood that painted her parents in the dimming light.

Instead, she _smelled _it.

Metallic, sickly-sweet, the smell of blood penetrated her senses as it wafted into her nostrils and coated her mouth, filling it with the taste of iron and salt. She grimaced, unaware that, compared to what she would see in a moment, the smell and taste of blood were about as disgusting as a slice of red-velvet cake, her favorite dessert. For Dani, it would seem as a delectable as chocolate ice-cream.

When Jack and Maddie Fenton dragged them down the stairs to their lab, Jazz shrieked helplessly into her father's hand, clawing desperately at his gloved wrists. Dani writhed in Mrs. Fenton's grip, tugging at the two seemingly delicate hands that covered her mouth. She too shrieked into the woman's hands, hissing words no young girl should know. The mother and father paid them no mind and easily dragged them down the steps as a little girl drags her rag-doll behind her, allowing it to thump lifelessly on each step as she descends.

At the bottom of the steps, Jack and Maddie threw the two girls onto the floor uncaringly, where a large, sticky puddle of blood was just beginning to congeal. They landed in it gracelessly, Jazz, on her side, Dani, face first. As the blood touched her face, Dani cried out, as one does when they suddenly feel an unexpected wetness connect with their skin. Jazz did as well as the cooling blood caressed her cheek as she laid there helplessly, her mind racing endlessly and her heart skipping like a rabbit's, eyes wide and filled with horror.

For a moment, the world was silent and still, and there was only the sound of the two girls as they laid there in the pool of blood and gasped, trying to catch their breathes, trying to regain composure, trying to make sense. Maddie and Jack were silent. The two figures who sat propped up in their chairs were unmoving.

Then, Jazz sat up, clutching her side in agony. She'd landed on something, though she didn't know what, but she thought it must be some kind of weapon, or perhaps a nail that her father had dropped and hadn't bothered to pick up. The rest of her body ached as well, but most of the pain was concentrated on her tailbone and her back, which had taken most of the beating the stairs had dished out. She moaned and rubbed herself weakly and helplessly, knowing it would do no good but needing _something_, some form of control. Dani laid in the pool of blood, motionlessly as she panted.

Jazz slowly looked up at her parents, who stood there, their faces hard and frozen with the deepest and sincerest form of hatred anyone was capable of expressing—hatred that looked so foreign on their faces.

"M-Mom…" she whimpered, struggling to hold back the tears that welled in her eyes. "D-Dad, what are you doing?"

"Where is he, Jasmine?" Jack Fenton snapped impatiently. If there was one thing she did take note of, it was that her father never called her "Jasmine".

"Where's who?" she moaned, but she dimly, vaguely knew, and knew why.

"_Danny_," Maddie hissed, spitting out the words in disgust, her lip drawn up in a hateful snarl. "That traitor who calls himself your brother."

"_Traitor_," Jazz repeated, her eyes dimming with realization. Still, she murmured, her heart aching, "Why do you say that?"

"Do you know what your brother is, Jasmine?" Jack snarled. "Do you know what that bastard _is_?"

She monotonously shook her head, even though she _did _know what that bastard was.

"You can't fool us, Jasmine," Maddie hissed, her white teeth glowing in the low light. "I know you know what your brother is, and I know you know _where _he is."

"I don't."

Maddie and Jack both smiled slowly, knowingly, sadistically. Maddie pointed to the two lifeless figures who sat propped in their chairs with her blood-encrusted machete.

"They said the same thing."

Jazz turned, and then she saw them.

* * *

><p>Yes I have tasted blood, because writers are obviously vampires too ^_^<p> 


	19. Chapter 19

Vlad Plasmuis reached out and steadied Asa almost immediately after this realization came, causing the broken healer to groan in agony. And when Vlad saw the extent of the damage he'd inflicted on the harried man, a groan slipped from between his lips as well; seeing the crater in Asa's chest was enough to make one vomit, but the thought that that crater could be the cause of Danny's death was absolutely heart stopping.

_Oh, god_, Vlad thought helplessly, unable to ignore the realization and the guilt that came with it, _I've done it. He's dead for sure, and this poor man is going with him. Oh, god…_

Again, Vlad felt Danny's control pressing down into him, stiffening his limbs and forcing him into a state of puppet-like obedience. Before this accident (if it could be called that) he would have never cared for a life so insignificant as Asa's. His objective, seeing to it that Danny lived, would have been the only thing that mattered. Other fatalities along the way would no more than make him pause for a single moment to calculate how this death would affect his ultimate goal. But Danny—this turmoil that all revolved around Danny like planets around the sun—had softened his heart, and now it seemed to matter, seemed to _hurt_, seeing this poor, irrelevant man lay dying with the blood on his hands. The control Daniel had over him was, without a doubt, such a frightening prospect, even if the boy was not conscious of this power. Fortunately for him.

But Daniel only seemed to have this control when he was _him_, when he was _Daniel_; he only seemed to tug and kneed Vlad's heart when the man could see his innocent face, could see his not quite thinned cheeks and his bright eyes and his beaming smile—a smile that was never present when Vlad was there but one he'd seen when he was spying on the child.

When he was the goal, however, that control seemed to slip effortlessly through his dead fingers. Because this game was like anything else he dealt with—money, his companies, business deals—all completely emotionless processes. This was something he'd learned early on in the trade, that in order to succeed you needed to remove yourself, all those feeble emotions that would surely sabotage, and that was what he always did, what he had _done_. Danny could not control him because he was simply _business_, something that needed to be taken care of but could not, _would not_ run him—_he_ ran _it_. But in business, those emotions sometimes found their way back inside, because in business, like any game, god knows you're never the only player…

But business seemed to be over now, almost as if he'd simply taken a vacation—a vacation from hell, that was, because Vlad Plasmius now stood, stiff as a tree, clutching a dying man in his arms and staring at a boy who lay fading on a stone table, glancing occasionally at an unconscious woman who sat propped up against the wall, and all those emotions came flooding back into him, all that horror, guilt, fear, and anger, anger at Jack and Maddie, at Danielle, at Jasmine, but mostly at himself.

He looked down at Asa, his eyes shinning with desperation and something that seemed like hopelessness.

"Oh, Asa," he moaned, "I'm so sorry."

"D-do you h-have the p-plant?" Asa choked out, ignoring his plea for forgiveness.

Vlad paused for a moment, wondering if he actually did. During that confusion, that _business_, he'd lost it, and now he had no idea where it had gone. He clawed at his suit, hoping he'd placed it in one of the pockets, but his hands came back empty. He looked around him desperately, his eyes traveling over the length of the floor, over the tables covered with their crumbling clay pots, trying futilely to find the plant's location in his sea of thoughts.

And then he saw it.

Snow White lay on the stone table, her hands folded and resting on her belly, her face appearing peaceful, at ease, as she slept. Somehow clasped in her hands, the tiny plant sprouted from her fingertips.

Vlad thought it almost immediately but did not voice it: "_I did not put the goddamn thing there_."


	20. Chapter 20

Vlad Plasmius gingerly untangled Danny's intertwined fingers and removed the plant, briefly letting his own fingers brush the child's, caressing softly and with lovingness. After a small moment, he took his hand back and showed the plant to the dizzy man who lay almost completely motionless in his arms.

"Here, Asa," Vlad said, offering up the plant in his opened palm. "Will it still work, do you think?"

The plant's condition was, without question, below par. The plant, having been small to begin with, had lost the majority of its leaves, and the ones that it still kept were damaged, torn and oozing the plant's fluids gently. And because of this, it seemed the plant was even beginning to dry out and take on a dusty appearance, almost as if it had been rolled in chalk. Vlad seemed to recognize the poor condition of the plant as unusable, and he could not help but think that if he hadn't wasted his time assaulting the two harried healers, he might have rendered said plant useful. It had at least been supple then, thick and water enriched.

Asa, however, seemed to feel differently, and, Vlad thought, seemed to be regaining some of the cockiness he'd previously exhibited, because he said, his voice ringing out with confidence despite the fact that there was a hole in his midsection, "I can m-make do. I am A-Asa."

"Is there something I can do to help?" Vlad asked, although it was apparent to the healer that Vlad really did not have the slightest intention to actually _assist_. It seemed he wanted no part in the process—or rather, as it was, could not stand to see Daniel in his present condition any longer. Vlad was, to put it plainly, tired of looking at Daniel's stony face, his _dead _face, tired of looking at his _failure_, his inability. He could not stand to look anymore, no; he felt it was, however, his duty to ask.

Thankfully, mercilessly, Asa replied, "No, I d-don't need help."

"What about your…injury?"

"I can w-whip up something before I start h-healing him."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," Asa said, pulling out of Vlad's grip autonomously and staggering over to the stone table where Danny lay frozen. "Y-you n-needn't w-worry. But…"

"Yes?"

"My d-darling, Althea," he said, pointing to the place where the beautiful young woman lay propped against one of the stone walls of the tower in which they dwelled. "Please, I n-need y-you to t-take her to h-her bedroom and p-put her in bed."

"Does she need any help first?" Vlad questioned, frankly unsure how the severity of the damage he'd caused her stood.

"J-Just a wet c-cloth on her f-forehead. She'll r-recover," Asa said, throwing herbs into a stone mortar and picking up a matching pestle.

Vlad nodded and went to the unconscious woman, slipping his hands under her arms and hoisting her to her feet. Laying the girl over his shoulder, he turned to Asa and asked, "Where is her room?"

"One floor down, t-third door on the l-left."

"All right," Vlad said, and gave Danny's gnawed body one last glance before turning and exiting with the sleeping woman clutched in his arms.

He walked carefully down one flight of stone steps, turned to the left, and walked down the long hallway, lit solely by smoking candles in sconces that were placed on the wall at regular intervals. To one side of the hallway, the left side, all the doors were clustered; to the other, odd portraits and wall hangings were grouped, staring eerily back at him in the dim light of the melting candles. When he came to the third door, he stopped and opened it.

The room was very large, fairly elegant; like the hallway, it too was lit singularly by clusters of dirty parchment-colored candles. Some rested in stone or metal sconces and most sat wherever surface was available. Their flames danced as he walked in and tickled them with a breeze. The room was a stew of scents—sandalwood, musk, myrrh and frankincense, patchouli, and a hint of cypress. Coughing hoarsely, the ghost noticed a stone bowl sitting on the dusty windowsill that was filled with sand from which incense sticks protruded. He waved his hand, shooing the smoke away as it came to greet him, and walked over to the bed—dark wood with some type of organic but lush bedding—and laid the woman down after a small moment of hesitation, because it was the first time in a long time he'd held a woman—a real woman, a beautiful woman. He cherished the way her soft, pillow-like breasts pushed against his chest, the way her hair cascaded around his head, caressing it, tickling his nostrils with its sweet, floral like scent, the way her smooth legs became entangled in his and brushed his now enlarged appendage beneath his tight silver suit.

"Oh, god," he said aloud, staring down at her, his eyes filled with uncontrolled lust. "This can't be real. Just yesterday I was longing to hold Maddie in this way." His face then darkened significantly, and his arousal seemed to be momentarily forgotten. "I could never love her now," he hissed out loud again. "But even so, I can't do this again…I owe it to myself…to Danny…"

He forced himself to turn away and set out to find a washrag he could wet to apply to the beautiful Althea's forehead.


	21. Chapter 21

Asa claimed, she told him when she regained consciousness later that evening, that a sea monster, similar to the Loch Ness monster, lurked in the lake nestled in the woods behind their castle. She had never seen it herself, but Asa told of a huge, rounded body, a long, thick neck supporting an ovular head, and, what stood out most to him, he said constantly, its smooth tail that had supposedly risen from the depths of the lake and _thwacked _their small wooden boat, sending splintered shards of the boat's side flying.

"There are many fish in our lake of considerable size that could have done that," Althea said softly, staring out the stone window of her bedroom where she was graced with a perfect view of the deep blue lake. "Until I see the monster for myself, I don't believe in it."

Since first regaining consciousness, her demeanor seemed to have completely shifted. When she was awake enough to realize who Vlad Plasmius was, and, to remember what he had done to her, she became frantic, panic-stricken. He explained calmly to her, keeping his English voice soft, that he had come to his senses; he told her that Asa was currently healing Danny and that he had been appointed to take her to her bedroom. After commenting on its beauty, she seemed to relax, very trustingly he noted, not without helpless pleasure.

_I think she trusts me_, he had thought, and then, _I think she has taken to me_, and after this, his smile fading, _Stop it._

And while he forced himself to stop, he knew that she must care for him enough to trust him, if blindly, if dumbly, if like a child, but what other reason did she have?

He commented next on the beauty of her home, trying to shift his focus. He mentioned the lake, saying it looked like it would be wonderful to swim in.

"Oh no," Althea had said, "Asa won't let me. He tells of a monster that lurks in the depths." And Vlad, being uncannily attracted to the idea of unholy monsters lurking in bodies of water since he'd been a boy, had immediately inquired.

Now, he said, "You've never seen it?"

"No," she said slowly. "Once, however, I saw something quite unnerving, though I don't know if it has made me believe any more than I did before I saw it. You see, Asa and I had taken the boat out one quiet day; I remember the water was perfectly still. Asa was fishing—he doesn't allow me to fish but likes that I come out with him to prepare the bait and serve him lunch—and I was looking down into the water. We had stopped in the middle of the lake, which is, naturally, the deepest area, and we could not see the bottom. But the water was clear as crystal, so much so Asa didn't need to attach a plastic piece used to tell when fish are biting."

"Like a bobber?" Vlad inquired, causing her to look at him in confusion, and he realized that she'd obviously never heard such wording. "That is what we call that piece of plastic where I come from."

"Then yes," she said. "Now, Asa and I have to sit on opposite sides of the boat so as not to capsize it, so he did not see what I saw. I was looking off into space—while still staring down at the water—when something caught my eye. It was _an _eye. It was only a few feet from the boat, still slightly beneath it. It was huge—the hugest eye I think I've ever seen, and it was red, a hellish, burning red. The head attached began to appear and I shrieked and staggered backward, and this caused the boat the rock and the…_thing_, or whatever it was, to swim away—it was so large, whatever it was, that I could feel it swim beneath the boat and displace the water, propelling us slightly upward. Asa shoved me to the other side of the boat before it could capsize."

Vlad sat, completely transfixed. Since he'd been as young as nine years old, he'd dreamt of being a sea captain whose primary goal is to discover those hidden creatures that lurk in the depths—every sea serpent, Jaws, Kraken, and most importantly, Loch Ness monster that had gone previously undiscovered.

He remembered watching a program on the Loch Ness monster at the tender age of nine and having this desire immediately instilled in him. When the program was finished—and the researchers exhibited had come up empty-handed—Vlad Masters decided he would go to Scotland and find the monster himself. He got up from where he had been sitting in front of their small television and raced into his father's study, where the large, bearded man was taking a swig of beer from a brown colored bottle that reminded him of the containers his root-beer came in.

"Dad?"

His father turned to look at him with drunken annoyance. "Kiddo, I'm busy," he growled, his voice roughened by alcohol, intoxication.

Nine-year-old Vlad Masters did not think reading the funnies and alternately drinking Bud Light and energy-drink really qualified as "busy", but his father did—in fact, he claimed it was his new work—work he did online—because he'd lost his job at the factory months ago for showing up drunk too many times. But Vlad knew that his father did nothing more than play poker on his computer when he sat in his study for hours on end, while his mommy worked two jobs to support their family. And though he wanted to, he never dared to suggest such a thing to his father, and neither did his harried mother. And, as he usually did, he nodded in compliance. "I know, Dad, I know you're working, but I got a question."

"What's that, baby?"

"I saw a show about a monster in Lake Loch Ness in Scotland. His name's the Loch Ness Monster."

"I heard about that," his father said, eyeing the comics drearily. "It's a fucking hoax."

"It is?"

"Of course it is, Vlad," his father said, setting down the newspaper and glaring at him questioningly. "How _stupid are _you?"

"They said it was real on the History Channel."

His father scooped him up and placed him on his knee, drawing him so close Vlad could smell the alcohol on his moist, warm breath. "You can't believe everything you hear on T.V., kid."

"Oh."

"You can't believe anything you can't see either, kid. Loch Ness Monster? Bullshit!" he exclaimed, spittle flying out of his mouth and resting on his coarse lip hair and landing on Vlad's face, causing him to grimace. "But, I did see one of those monsters."

His grimace disappeared; he stopped trying to casually wipe his face on his shoulder. He stared at his father in wonder. "You did?"

"I did. When I lived in Pennsylvania, I met this kid who had family in Vermont. We became good friends, close as could be, like two peas in a goddamn pod. When he went to visit his family there, I went with him. They had a house on a big lake called Lake Champlain. The first time I went there and wanted to go swimming, his parents told me I had to stay out of the water. When I asked why, they said, "Because Champ's in there!" and I said, "Who's Champ?" and Ronny—that was the kid—told me that Champ was America's Loch Ness."

Vlad stared at his father with wide, starry eyes. "…America's Loch Ness?"

"Yes indeed, kiddo," his father said, ruffling his hair.

"And you saw it?"

"Yes indeed. I didn't care what Ronny or his family said. See, it was hot as hell that summer day, and I wanted to cool off. I got on my swim trunks and as I was walkin' down to the water, I saw the thing. Huge body, long neck, oval-like head, and a little smidgen of tail stickin' up out of the water. Before I could call Ronny or even take a closer look at it, it disappeared. I think it was one of those if-you-blink-you-miss-it things."

"Wow," Vlad said, momentarily utterly astonished, unable to say anything else. Then, he seemed to shift into whining-mode, a mode he did not enter much since his father took up alcohol. "Daddy, can we go? Please, can we go? I want to see Champ!"

"We don't have the lettuce for that, kid. Not since I got laid off."

"Oh, please Daddy!" Vlad cried, staring up at his father with huge, shimmering puppy-eyes.

His father drummed his fingers on the desk. "Well, your birthday is a few weeks away."

"And we can go?" Vlad asked, _exclaimed_ gleefully.

"Well, I'll see what I can do. I'm going to have to try to find another job."

Vlad threw his arms around his father and kissed his cheek lovingly. "Thank you Daddy!"

"Okay, okay, calm down kiddo. You need a shot of Xanax. Maybe a cocktail."

His father managed to pull together the money and scheduled the trip to Vermont—by car—for the day before Vlad's birthday. On this morning, a Tuesday morning, they found Mr. Masters dead in his chair at his desk, hunched over an online game of poker, buried in beer- and energy-drink-cans.

He had died of alcohol poisoning.

Althea noticed this look of undiluted sadness that had shaped Vlad Plasmius' face suddenly, noticed how his eyes and mind seemed to have drifted.

"Vlad," Althea said softly, drawing him back to reality. "What is it?"

He looked up at her, startled, distraught, momentarily unable to comprehend where he was. "H...huh…?"

"What's wrong?"

Then, he re-composed himself, pulling his lips into a sullen frown and his eyes into a cold stare. "Nothing."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"All right, if you're sure…I should be getting to work. Asa will require my assistance. Please excuse me," she said, and abruptly left, leaving Vlad to stare out at the deep blue lake.

"Ah, Dad," he moaned softly, resisting the urge to shed tears. "Dad, how can you be sure? If anything, you can't _disbelieve _something until you've seen it. Maybe...maybe there really is a monster in Lake Champlain. I won't ever know, but I do know you wouldn't lie to me…and if there really is one, that doesn't mean that there can't be one in Lake Loch Ness…or here, for that matter…"

Staring at the lake intently, he said, his black eyes shimmering determinedly, "Maybe…maybe I go exploring…it might take my mind off things…or it might not…"

Even with this doubt floating in front of his eyes persistently, he turned and left the room, his destination, the middle of the lake.

* * *

><p>AN:

How do you write a chapter like this? Listen to Holy Diver repeatedly until you finish. That's a fish song, and that's what I did ^_^


	22. Chapter 22

Finding his way out of the castle proved a much more difficult challenge than he had initially expected, but as he wandered the stony halls of the castle it became clear just how large, tomb-like, the place actually was—and, just how beautiful. He was actually becoming jealous of the castle's outstanding architecture, and found it significantly superior to that of his own. He thought, his heart bestowed with a newly-cultured excitement, liveliness, that if the dead boy upstairs did make it out alive, he would redesign his own castle to resemble that of the two healers responsible for his recovery as a tribute to their skills out of sheer gratitude…and perhaps lust for the castle itself.

He had always imagined living in a place like this as a child—wandering through the maze of stone hallways by the dim glow emanating from dirty, dust-embedded pillar candles, peering out of glassless windows at the rolls of raised land splayed across a wide green valley, playing hide-and-seek with himself, his heart racing irregularly as he convinced himself he was being followed soundlessly by a demon, one who even scared his imaginary friend, a boy, age nine, named V—the name was the result of his outright lack of creativity, but even when he later thought of sufficient names to replace this, he and his parents had gotten too used to addressing the invisible child as "V", and even though his friends—real friends—scoffed at the name, for their silent playmates had much more elaborate names, he'd proudly said to them, using the newest word he'd heard his daddy saying, "His name's V, go fuck yourselves.", which had undoubtedly landed him and V in the principle's office.

He had always longed to live in this castle by himself, prowling the lone halls at night, sitting stiffly in a wooden chair at the stone dining-room table, alone, wandering the gardens, observing the lake—but this was not so. He spent his childhood in a small, cozy, cabin-like home, not a thing frightening about it. It was warm, close, not at all shadowy and inhabited by an icy breeze.

Building the castle he now currently lived had been his way, he supposed, of making up for this absence, and while this pain had mostly subsided, the wound still felt half-opened, like a scab that you've begun picking but have been dissuaded by the stinging pain. His castle, with its gleaming white marble floors and walls and stone pillars reminded him nothing of the place of his dreams. Such a place was the color of gray, faded, nestled between rolling hills and forests and hidden gardens. Not a pasture of cows in sight, no red barn looming hatefully in the distance. Inside he had never imagined to have decked the place in green and gold football memorabilia, but rather with royal purple and blue, fresh, seeping-out-of-wound blood red, diluted gold, silver. Knights in shining armor, oh so cliché, would flank his cushioned throne, protecting him. It was, to put it plainly, nothing like where he now resided aside from the obvious fact that the genre of structure itself was correct.

After leaving the stretch of hallway in which Althea's room was located, he spent a good half hour wandering about the ghostly place, his scuffed black boots tapping rhythmically as he ambled through the halls like a bound spirit, lost and without any sense of direction whatsoever. The place was truly a maze—a tangle of stair cases, a labyrinth of doorways. He had somehow wandered away from the window out which he'd gazed upon the monster's pen, and he tried to angle back in this direction, heading left, figuring he'd _have_ to come to the same wall with the lakeside view at some point or another. It was now not just a quest to find the lake—it was a quest to escape the castle. However, it was an incredible relief to have his mind removed from Daniel for a few moments. If only for a few, it felt amazingly refreshing to focus on something other than the boy, even if he felt guilty feeling so.

At last, he came to a wall with long, rectangular windows spaced evenly along its length. He had, throughout his trek through the castle, begun a gradual descent downward. He had not wanted to take the stairs before he could peer out the window once more—he didn't trust the stairs, which were crumbling, had no support structure and no handrails—but at several intervals of hallway during the length of his journey he'd run out of doors and other passageways to take and was left only with the staircase to carry him where he would. He might have gone down four sets of stairs—which seemed natural, because Althea's room was on one of the topmost floors—and now he thought he must be on the second or third floor.

As if to justify this, he went to the window and peered out.


	23. Chapter 23

As Vlad Plasmius finally made his way down to the lake, Asa was beginning the long process of healing Danny. With the herb Vlad had brought for him, useless it may have seemed, Asa made a paste which he applied to Danny's wounds—all the cuts, bite marks, and tears alike. The paste was effective and very simple to create, something anyone could have made, really; therefore, it was not the paste that drew wounded beings to Asa and Althea—it was their healing powers.

These powers were widely unseen by anyone outside the family of the two healers, for Asa and Althea did not allow outside witnesses to observe the process, nor did they allow their patient to be conscious during the treatment—they would administer a simple sedative that would do nothing but put the being to sleep. This unwillingness—dishonesty—was a turn-off to many beings, but those who had experienced their healing in the past would urge anyone they knew who suffered, from long- and short-term injuries and illnesses alike, to come to Asa and Althea.

Their shadiness was as terrible as it seemed—it was their way of conserving money. They were not strong ghosts; they could not pillage and steal. By the nature of their location, they were forced to rely on others to deliver the groceries they did not cultivate themselves. Unlike most ghosts who resided in the Ghost Zone, everything they owned, used, and ate was paid for in full. And so while it might seem selfish, healing beings was their livelihood, and they could not afford to have someone discover how it was done and invite their costumers into their own home to be healed.

This concern was legitimate; many of the other healers they competed with had learned the trade, not been born with the ability to heal. That, both Asa and Althea were. Their parents had been healers, and so had their parents, and so on. Their healing was, of course, the most natural and uncompromised, but many people and ghosts alike were persuaded by the posers with bottled, fast working medicines that would internally destroy the body, shinny silver surgical tables, everything that was not holistic. Unfortunately, many beings knew nothing of actual holistic medicine, and due to the nature of their secrecy Asa and Althea were mostly unable to further educate such people orally. However, anyone who had undergone the healing process would become an instant believer in this holistic medicine. Whatever the hell that was.

Asa was running his hands over Danny's body slowly, a soft blue glow emanating from them, when Althea walked in. Asa looked up and the troubled expression on his face disappeared immediately, replaced by one of joy. He left Danny and went to hug her. "My darling, I feared for you. Are you alright?" he asked, holding her.

This was an extremely pleasant surprise to Althea. They were siblings, but their father had given Asa the authority to make any and all important decisions and told Althea to be a good girl and obey. Her brother spent the majority of his time pushing her around, sometimes making her solely heal the majority of their customers while he bragged to their friends or family. He seemed not to care about her whatsoever until now, and it was refreshing, maybe a bit too so.

"Yes. You're not just saying this because you want me to heal the Ghost Boy, are you?" she asked, pulling out of his arms.

"Oh, of course not. In fact, I was hoping you'd stay in bed and rest. Your head still feels swollen and hot."

"I'm fine. But what in the world happened to you?" she asked, noticing the huge bandage Asa had fashioned out of strips of cloth that was wrapped around his chest.

"_My _run-in with Mr. Plasmius," he said simply, shrugging, and went back over to Danny, his hands beginning to glow again.

Althea gasped. "That's _terrible_."

"Yes…but in truth, I can't blame him. He's been through so much. He really does seem very nice, but I think this whole business with the Ghost Boy has changed him."

"He still can't be forgiven for injuring you like that," Althea said, glaring at the injury on his chest.

"I will heal in no time. In fact, the herb he fetched produced plenty of our paste, and I had enough to apply to my wound as well as the Ghost Boy's. It will be healed by tomorrow."

Althea paused, then said, "Will the Ghost Boy? Will he be healed by tomorrow?"

Asa looked up again and smirked triumphantly at her, that arrogance returning. "By tonight."

* * *

><p>Vlad took the boat to the middle of the lake and sat there for a very long time, surrounded by still, unmoving waters. For hours he sat there, jumping at every stir of water, peering down into the depths, hoping the NessieChamp/The Loch Ness in Asa and Althea's Lake would suddenly shoot out of the water like a cheap-scare in a horror movie, even if it might give him a heart-attack. He sat there, longing to see it, longing for the closure he never got, because it really was not about Champ. It was about his father. It was as if seeing this monster would justify his father somehow, his alcoholism, his abuse, everything he had been, still was. And though he shouldn't have wanted this, he did, more than anything, because he had been living for the past thirty five years trying to come up with a reason his father came home drunk every night and whipped him with a belt, why his father appeared in his bedroom late at night when he was half-asleep with no clothes on. He wanted to see that monster, he really did, but was not, unfortunately, so lucky. He sat in the boat silently without seeing anything until "tonight". It had gotten dark, but he had not left the lake, even though he couldn't see a thing, and he still kept his eyes glued to the water.

He only looked up when he heard Asa calling.

"Plasmius! Mr. Plasmius! Look over here!"

And he did.

By the light of the gas-lamps that were spaced evenly along the length of the wall, he saw them standing. Asa, Althea, both smiling. And there he was, Danny. Conscious, healed, and upright. Staring at him with a pale face but bright, lively eyes—eyes that were twitching. His mouth was flat, but the lip was quivering. Trying not to cry. Trying to stay composed as he stared at Vlad with a stew of emotions brewing on his face.

Vlad stared at him silently for a moment from across the lake, his eyes wide and his mouth open, but the moment was small. He then cried, "_My little badger!_" stood up, his elation causing a momentary lapse in judgment as the boat rocked and he lost his balance and fell into the cold lake.

* * *

><p>AN:

You guys are breaking my balls here, you're breaking my balls. (clownhatcurlyhair:))

Hope you enjoyed, review and I'll write another chapter in French class and type it up on Wednesday night.

~VC


	24. Chapter 24

As Vlad fell into the dark waters of the mist-enveloped lake, Danny at once burst into tears and almost maniacal laughter. Clutching his belly, he laughed and wept as the once calm waters were rippled by Vlad's thrashing body as he made his way back up to the surface of the water. The commotion—Danny's laughter and the churning waters—stirred several nesting raven-like birds in the forest that bordered the lake; with shrieking cries that pierced the once silent night, they fled and took to the wispy gray sky.

As and Althea might have fled, too, if they'd had wings. For they were staring at Danny Phantom with wide eyes and faces twisted by shock and utter disbelief. They stood and observed the rather disturbing display, not sure whom they should be more concerned for—the Ghost Boy or Mr. Plasmius.

Although he was gasping, his eyes wide, features trembling, Vlad appeared to be fine. He swam quickly to the overturned boat and pulled himself up onto its sturdy wooden underside. He lay there panting, clutching to the boat with his strong arms, his body half in the water and half on the boat like a dead, beached whale. He was briefly unresponsive but Danny's laughter seemed to draw him out of this darkness as he turned and looked upon the shore where the undead boy was weeping and cackling with such force it was beginning to hurt. Vlad looked at him in disbelief, his red eyes wide and his thick black hair sagging with the weight of the water. This same water blurred his vision, and he did not see that Danny was crying. He thought, instead, that Daniel was simply laughing at his misfortune, his humiliating blunder, and he angrily pulled himself up all the way onto the boat's underside. Considering what he had been through for this boy, the fact that he was laughing now did _not _please him.

"Danny!" he screamed, his eyes stinging from the surprisingly salty water. "Stop laughing this instant!"

Danny tried to stop—he really did. But he was so emotionally _disturbed_, so altered that he couldn't signal his brain that it was time to stop. He simply laughed harder, his overgrown fingernails digging into his belly as if he were trying to keep himself from busting a gut, if that were actually possible.

As his laughter increased so did his tears, because he was now crying not simply due to the hateful tangle of emotions knotting his mind, but because he now understood what Vlad had done for him and knew how he must be hurting him now. Thick tears rolled down his cheeks as he laughed ceaselessly, causing Vlad to growl in anger that was just barely contained by his sympathy for the boy, after what he'd gone through, he supposed.

"Danny!" he barked, trying to control his tongue but frankly appalled by this outrageous behavior. "Stop laughing!"

"Danny, you really should stop," Althea warned, nudging Danny gently. "He's been through so much for you."

"And it isn't all that funny," Asa added, although there was a subtle smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

"I c-can't," he managed through his fit of laughter, weeping harder. "I c-can't…"

Vlad was now trying to stand up on the underside of the boat. While it seemed like something out of pure idiocy, something that could not be done, Vlad, with an inhuman agility and balance, got up and stood there, completely still even though the water beneath the boat was churning. It now became apparent that Vlad must have a great ability to control his body—it probably came with his ghost powers—and it seemed that the only reason he should've fallen in before was he'd been completely and utterly distracted in every sense of the word.

Balancing himself perfectly on his unstable platform, he stared at Danny, eyes burning with fury and uttered, "_You little fucking brat, I'm going to make you wish your parents had killed you, I swear I'm going to—_"

There was a sound that resembled a roar as the monster of the lake rose from its depths beneath the boat, pushing it up, out of the water and overturning it. Vlad shrieked—the first panicked cry _any _of them had heard him utter in the time they'd known him—losing that cat-like balance he'd previously exhibited as he tumbled back into the water with a _splash_. When it rose fully out of the uncaring water and they saw it clearly, Danny stopped laughing, for this was, without a doubt, a greater shock than his parent's betrayal, even, had been, because he had known, somewhere in his heart, that it would never work the way he hoped—it never did. And he might believe in ghosts and ghost powers, but he hadn't stopped to give the Loch Ness monster a second thought or peg it as anything other than a hoax. But here it was.

Long, slender neck, ovular head, gleaming red eyes, round body and flippers that looked to be some type of smooth, polished, dark-green blubber.

There it was, and there Vlad was, in the water with it.

It was the first emotion-driven thing Danny had said since he'd woken up:

"_Jesus Christ!_"

* * *

><p>AN: review and I will update on friday

~VC


	25. Chapter 25

They watched in horror, frozen in place on the grassy shore that bordered the mist-enveloped lake, their eyes, all six of them, wide and bulging from their pale faces, their mouths agape in awe. Althea, a strong woman by nature but terribly afraid of water and all its inhabitants, shrieked and backed away from the shore, her hands clutched to her breast, as if trying to control the ruthless pounding of her own heart. Asa was shaking—he looked genuinely horrified, because when he'd told his sister of his sightings of the monster of their lake he'd left out the small detail that he had only seen its flipper as it dove under the water when he'd gone out to fish. He had spent many an hour educating himself on the monster, fictional or not, and though he had not seen the monster in full, he was confident that its features would resemble those he told the black-haired girl that evening while they were eating dinner. And, not surprisingly, the monster looked just as he'd said, and Althea was none the wiser.

Vlad momentarily disappeared beneath the colliding waves, his muscular blue-skinned body seemingly unable to maintain itself for a small moment as he became Masters for the first time in a very long time, his gangly limbs slipping effortlessly beneath the waves.

The monster—it was not Nessie or Champ, but perhaps it was Vlad's father, reincarnated? V back for revenge for the time he'd written "ASS" on the wall of his mother's kitchen in red letters and blamed him for it?—dove beneath the waters again to the place Vlad had sunk, its flippers working, its tail thrashing.

Danny's heart seemed to stop, but his mind raced faster and faster, to the rhythm of the war drums that beat ceaselessly in his troubled mind.

_holy fuck holy fuck holy god its going to eat him its going to tear him apart the damn monster is going to fucking eat him oh my god its going to kill him its going to eat him and hes going to die and fuck fuck fuuuuuuuuuuck_

These thoughts, so panicked and unfocused—perhaps so unhelpful they were irrelevant—soon began to shift and lead him into a minefield of questions, of answers, of yeses and nos and maybes, of idon'tknows, of chaotic indecision that drove him into a frenzy.

_danny oh danny oh danny hes going to die vlad is going to die if you dont do something hes probably unconscious hes going to die in the fucking lake hes going to die in the fucking water in a watery fucking grave danny are you going to let him he saved your damn life he saved your damn life and you need to save his_

_i wont but you have to you have to save him you do he saved you without him you would have died you would be gone you have to save him but what if he only saved me to make me join him to turn me evil i cant let him do that i have to let him die but he saved me he saved you danny he saved you and you need to save him get into the damn water now—_

Althea was screaming again, more sharply, as Vlad Masters resurfaced, thrashing, trying to get momentum like an old cartoon character trying to run. He started to swim to the shore, but this panic was also blurring his own thoughts, muddling his once clear mind, and instead of simply changing back to Plasmius and flying over of the water he tried wildly to swim _through_ it.

The monster was not far behind him, and was effortlessly gliding over the dark water a few feet from him, its flippers working—but not very hard, because Masters was not an entirely fast swimmer, though strong he was—and tail stirring the water as it pushed back and forth.

This seemed to hit Danny Phantom in a way nothing else did. It seemed so ironic, he supposed, that Vlad should be experiencing what he always felt when the man dealt with him, if not literally—swimming madly through thick water with an unrelenting monster trailing his person. Because Vlad was a monster, and his name was _Commitment_, because that was what Vlad wanted from him. He wanted him to commit; he wanted him to be good and give himself over and allow himself to be molded. And while it seemed there was no escaping it, seemed the water was too thick, too murky, he always tried to swim. He was always swimming for his own goodness, his own _self_, because even when Vlad was not there the Commitment was making him flee, and he could only wonder how long it would be before Commitment finally caught up to him.

_Has it?_

Danny did not ask himself this—he truly didn't have to, because he knew. Commitment certainly had caught up to him, because now, as the man fainted from exhaustion, he dove into the water to save his monster from its own, deserving of the punishment Vlad may be. He was committed.

Whether Vlad knew it or not, he had already swallowed Danny...and perhaps he was beginning to digest his remains.

* * *

><p>AN:

I was listening to Nicki Minaj when I typed that one sentence about war drums and then I imediately turned on Counting Bodies Like Sheep to the Rhythm of the War Drums. That's when all the Danny jibberish came about 0.0 Jeez, that song makes me high.

Anyway, I know this chapter is short, but I feel better updating with short chapters if I do it two-three times a week. So if you review again, I will update tomorrow night. And if you review that one, I will update on my Wednesday. So stop being pissy about my cliffies. =P

~your favorite little cupcake-sweetie VC

P.S. WOW! I just made the chapter look like it's about two-hundred more words than it actually IS! =D

Update: I did not like how the Danny nonsense looked with random spaces generated by the word document because apparently you cannot have one long word, so to make it more cohesive I've spaced it all out.


	26. Chapter 26

She was gagged, because her shrieks could have signaled the neighbors. Anyone passing by—hell, anyone on the other side of town could have heard the girl wail. It was a sharp, high-pitched sound, and the small rag that had been shoved into her mouth did not completely blot out the sound, because she was still screaming. Staring at them.  
>Jazz Fenton was staring in horror at the blood-covered scene, her robin's egg-blue eyes seemingly bulging from their sockets. Dani was staring now too, and her eyes resembled the almost-adult girl's closely. The preadolescent girl had to be gagged, too, because she was now shrieking as well.<p>

Tucker and Sam, once so lively, now looked like murder victims awaiting examination by the coroner. They each had slashes in their faces, necks, and chests, but on closer inspection it became apparent that they had been stabbed several times each as well. It was easier to tell with Tucker, on whose yellow shirt they watched deep crimson stains spread from select spots on his chest. In turn, they could see the slashes made into Sam's pale skin more easily than they could Tucker's.

Tucker's eyes were closed and Sam's were not, but it seemed that her pupils had simply disappeared, prompting a thought somewhere in the back of Jazz's mind, one that held no importance whatsoever but was there because she never stopped thinking, _Her eyes must have rolled back in her head._

Jazz's parents regarded the scene with cold, completely uncaring eyes, their lips twisted in defiant snarls as they stared at the two girls shrieking like they'd been visited by the Candyman. Maddie had her hands on her hips, still keeping the machete pointed at the two lifeless teenagers. Jack had his arms crossed over his chest, and his thick brow was low on his eyes, his pale lips pressed firmly together as he watched. In truth, Jazz thought that if they weren't drenched in blood and holding a weapon, they would not have looked like murderers so much as pissed-off parents. She knew that look well enough. Danny had been stared down in such a fashion many a time.

When the initial shock seemed to pass, Jazz stopped her shrieking and began to hyperventilate. She was now realizing a cold truth, one which made her feel selfish. It was not so much that she cared about Tucker and Sam—but she did—as it was the realization of what would happen to Danny if he was caught if they were capable of doing something like _this_ to his friends who were simply trying to protect him.

Dani was responding in a similar fashion, breathing fast and hard, _gasping_, after she'd stopped screaming only a few moments after Jazz had, because she hadn't liked the sound of her screams echoing alone throughout the lab—it was such a frightening sound, for reasons she did not know.

Mrs. Fenton spoke slowly, her voice a low growl, "Now, that will be _both _of you if you don't tell me where the bastard is. So I am going to take out the gags and you're each going to tell me where he is. Am I understood?"

Jazz, weeping, could only nod in hopes that it'd give her another chance to shriek, tell someone, _Hey, look, I'm down here! About to be tortured!_

But her mother said, "Oh, and if you scream, I'll slit your throat."

Jazz moaned and cried harder, and Dani, who was as street-savvy as one could be, broke down and finally started crying, not only from this shock now but the pain of everything else she'd been through.

Maddie took out Dani's gag first, as if trying to borrow her daughter some time to think on things, to decide to _do the right thing_, and to demonstrate that they were serious and that she would be killed if she didn't talk. In truth, Jack and Maddie were already intent on getting the answer from their daughter and having her live.

Dani did not scream, for she found herself suddenly remembering an old urban legend she'd read when she'd gone to the Ghost Writer's library to pass some time (did he want her there, no, was she there, yes). The story had been about a troubled barber named Sweeney Todd who slit his customers' throats and put their corpses into pies. She remembered reading it and grimacing, because she was extremely protective of her own throat, and was sensitive to any touch to the area other than her own. To her, having your throat slit would be to someone else like burning to death or being buried alive—it was absolutely _horrific_, despite the fact that it was quick unlike the latter.

No, she didn't dare open her mouth. She simply stared at Maddie Fenton, fear twisting the delicate muscles in her face. She was shaking, and her lip was quivering as tears streamed down her still-plump face. She did not know what to do, but she would not scream. She would not have her throat slit and made into one of Mrs. Fenton's pies.

But whether she realized it or not, she already was.

* * *

><p>AN:

Ah, Sweeney Todd, my handsome barber. I feel if I were in the story of Sweeney Todd, I'd be Judge Turpin ;)

Anyway, I am so excited because it's my birthday tomorrow (or today, I guess, it's six but it feels like night) and I'm going to MOA. I'm gonna go on the Danny Phantom ride!

I also got to open my presents yesterday and I got a t-shirt with Danny's logo so I was so excited I was hardly capable of writing. So if the chapter sucks, blame it on the shirt.

Also, before I go, I wanna know. Am I the only one who's dreamed of beating Dani with a bat? (that bitch tryin' to break up my father/son pairing! I'll fing kill her!)

~VC


	27. Chapter 27

"What's your name, sweetheart?" Jack Fenton asked the writhing girl who lay on the cold and unforgiving floor of the couple's lab, one which they had built together in the early stages of their relationship…just a few months after Vlad had been infected with Ecto-Acne.

Maddie Fenton held the machete to Dani's throat, gripping the handle which such tightness that her knuckles began to turn white. The girl's skirting eyes glanced quickly to the length of the knife, on which the blood of Tucker and Sam was now congealing, then to the stout man who stood before her, his shadow falling over her in an almost perfect block-like formation. She looked back at the knife again, the light in her young, puppy-like eyes dancing rapidly as she watched the dim glow of the desk-lamps in the lab catch an uncovered spot of the blade's metal and wink gently, and for a long moment she was so mesmerized by this that she could not take her eyes off of it until she heard the stark, compassionless voice boom again, now filled with anger as well, "What is your name?"

Her eyes darted to Jack Fenton once again. He looked down at her, and in his eyes, she noted with horror, rage burnt like two uncontrolled fires; his disgust, his hatred, she knew, had fueled these fires. His lips—lips she would never see turned up in a loving smile or open and spilling laughter—were pressed firmly together, and, like Maddie's knuckles, had gone a creamy white. His robust arms were crossed defiantly over his chest.

Her eyes darted to Maddie Fenton as she moved the knife slightly upward, so that the unsharpened edge of the blade pressed coldly into her throat. Dani gave a small, alarmed croak, feeling the corpselike hand run its frigid fingers down her spine, causing her to shiver rapidly, as it always did when her throat was prodded.

"Tell him!" she hissed, pressing continuously more aggressively with each second that passed.

Terrified, Dani Phantom looked to the girl beside her; Jazz Fenton was still weeping helplessly at this display, her eyes opened for the first time to what her parents really were, what they'd always been—monsters. The girl with the carrot-colored hair had always known her parents could cause damage, especially her father; they were always humiliating their two children, but unknowingly so, which had made their behavior at least _passable_. She knew they hated ghosts, but the question that had never left her mind since she'd been dragged into the house by her hair rang out in her head like the toll of a tin bell: _how_, no matter the circumstances, could they hate _Danny_, their _son_?

She stared at Dani with eyes shimmering in a manner like her own, eyes that were two blue oceans of despair in which any hope had drown a long while ago. Those eyes were hopeless, but in them there was something else, and Dani knew it. In those crystalline eyes, behind the proud wall her fear had constructed, she was saying, _screaming_, _Don't tell them your name! Don't tell them your name! _And Dani could _see_ that plea flashing as brightly as the smothering fear would allow in those seas, like a drowning swimmer thrashing at the surface of the water as long as he can, praying to be spotted, and knew instantly the reason for it.

_They'll make a connection_, she thought. _Some weird girl shows up they've never seen before with the same name and they'll know there's something wrong._

Another thought followed suit, _Oh, why did I have to _run_? At least Vlad would have finished me quickly!_

Looking carefully back at Jack, she said slowly, but so skittishly that it appeared she could just barely formulate the words, "J-Johanna. My n-name is J-Johanna."

In that book she'd read not so long ago, Johanna had been Sweeney's daughter. One of the only surviving characters.

Dani prayed for the same.

* * *

><p>AN:

I'm so sorry this update took so long! Please review and I will update very soon, with a much longer, more satisfying chapter. I have a four day weekend next week so I will update then, and I will also try to post another chapter on any of the three days I do have school.

Thanks, I appreciate all the reviews and support.

~VC


	28. Chapter 28

He'd never thought himself to be a particularly well swimmer, because the lord knew how many times during his swimming lessons as a boy or the classes that were part of his school's mandatory P.E. curriculum he'd made it to the other side of the pool last or nearly drown trying ("trying" being the key word) to play water-volleyball. But now, swimming out to the unconscious body that had begun its gradual descent into the dark, monster-ridden waters, it would appear to anyone who had not known him prior, such as Asa and Althea, that he could have spent hour regaling to you how he'd won this or that against some large, muscular fellow who wore sickeningly tight swimsuits to show off his strong legs. He glided effortlessly and smoothly across the cold lake with the gracefulness of a water-bound bird but the quickness of a fox as it trailed its prey.

Asa and Althea, who had just healed this boy's wounds, stitched together the skin that had been opened by teeth whose sharpness were beyond comprehension and cleaned the blood from his body with a warm wet rag not ten minutes ago, stood amazed.

"He is like a fish," Asa commented, watching the Ghost Boy's long arms swiftly slice through the cool and dreadfully clear water with wide, glinting eyes. "It's amazing, considering that only a few moments ago we'd thought him for dead."

Althea regarded him for a long moment, a soft smirk tugging at the corners of her lips, for though Asa did not realize it, this thing he'd said gave way to a path of hidden truth like a strong wind effortlessly carrying away a tangle of vines from the entrance of a cave inside which is a hoard of treasure. It was a rare thing indeed; Asa was not the type of man to admit when he was clearly outmatched, and this reassurance—it was really just that, because though she knew it she'd never _seen _it—proved satisfying indeed, for not only did Asa seem in that moment so _mortal_, but the idea that her brother was internally struggling when he'd exhibited such terrible arrogance gave her a sick sort of pleasure.

"Oh? You'd counted him for dead? I hadn't," she said, smiling at him coyly, so distracted by this revelation that her focus had completely shifted from the drowning man and his apparently very well-trained puppy.

"Does it matter?" he snapped after a long pause, like that which follows a child after he has been caught by his mother stealing cookies before dinner, hands painted red. "We've got a boy who's just gotten up and he's going to overexert himself if we don't stop him!"

She would never have said so, but internally she was screaming, _Bullshit! Bullshit! _because it was painfully apparent, as it always had been with each and every soul that had ever wandered into their palace to be healed, that her brother had never cared about any of those that came into contact with his glowing hands. Simply, that was not the way he worked; Asa worked strictly for money and a sense of self-worth, because, Althea thought, his mind was not a very well gymnast and it could not twist itself around enough that it might be able to convince itself of this on its own as some people are capable of doing. He did it to put bread on the table and to stroke his ego, but Althea knew that if both Vlad and Danny were to drown or be gobbled up by the Loch Ness Monster, Asa could lie down in bed that night and fall asleep without a second thought of that day's events.

Still, she had never been one to argue; even if she had reason to, she'd become so extremely passive over years of being restricted that many of the opinions she had formulated never left her pale lips. So now she said, "Yes, all right. But…"

"But what?" he said, turning to glare at her with stony eyes. "Why do you keep wasting my time?"

"I think the Ghost Boy can handle himself," she said softly, now staring at the lake, pointing with one slender finger, delicate and very ladylike but non-polished. "Watch."

Asa turned in the direction in which her beautiful finger poked and his eyes briefly grew wide; it seemed as if in the time it had taken him to realize his mistake in speaking so freely he'd missed something very crucial in this water show, because now Danny was clutching onto Vlad's unconscious body and…glaring up at Champ with fire burning in his young, lively eyes.

The monster was now still in the water, looming over Danny and Vlad so ominously that its shadow fell onto them in the light that the lamps on the walls of castle cast out. Its long, tube-like neck was craned as it peered down at Danny, and it became instantly apparent that the two were engaged in a staring contest of sorts…and it did not look as though Danny meant to back down.

"What is he _doing_?" Asa cried, staring at the trio in horror, his eyes wide and almost comically bulging from their sockets. "He's going to get himself killed!"

"I think…" Althea started gently, not afraid nor mystified; rather, she seemed to be perplexed, the sort of ignorance that is bestowed upon one when they are certain they know what they'd like to say but aren't certain _how_, exactly. Simply, she couldn't put her finger on it, though she was aware fully what the Ghost Boy planned to do. "He's going to…"

Suddenly, Danny Phantom sucked in a deep breath and the words came swiftly to the dark-haired girl. Gasping immediately, she turned to the man beside her and yelled, "_Cover your ears!_"

Before an inquiry could take place, the wail came. The trees in the neighboring forest whipped in the wind until they snapped into two, splinters raining like confetti on one's birthday. The ground shook and the palace's heavy stone quivered; the sound of the wind invading the passageways of the castle came across as an eerie human moan that sent shivers up the spine. The water left the lake and splayed out across the seemingly endless postcard-perfect landscape of rolling hills, soaking the tall, beating grass and weighing it down. The force of Danny Phantom's wail sent the Loch Ness flying backward and into the sharp, rocky outcropping that had once been contained within the water; the animal of fables made a sound that clearly resembled a roar on impact, and then silently tumbled to the bottom of the now drained lake in a heap.

When it was over, Danny stood standing at the bottom of the lake with his fists clenched to encourage his anger, arms tightly at his sides to increase lung capacity, and his legs spread wide for stability—the stance of a warrior as he stands upon the battle field and gives his cry, defending what is his. He was panting rapidly, his chest heaving up and down as he glared at the heap that was the Loch Ness Monster/Champ/whatever the fuck you wanted to call it. Unfortunately, this proud stance—that of standing upon the field on which you've fought and knowing that you've gotten the shit beaten out of you but feeling that this makes your victory so much more substantial—only lasted for a few seconds, because he collapsed onto the hard, wet mud—there was no sand, for all of it had been pushed to the opposite side of the lake—near Vlad Masters, who he'd pushed carefully behind him to shield him from the force of his wail…and who was just beginning to pull his eyes open.

Danny crawled over to him weakly and fell onto his chest, his hands out as he began to give him the Heimlich maneuver—something his father could never have done, Vlad would note later—to evict the water from his lungs.

"Come on, damn you," Danny panted softly as he did, almost comically. "Come on, come on, come on, goddamn it."

Water came spurting from the man's mouth suddenly as his eyes shot open and, as if his heart had been restarted, he jerked upwards. Seeing this, Danny sighed in great relief and allowed himself to collapse backwards into the muck, panting like a dog on a hot summer's day.

For a moment, Vlad sat in stunned silence as his thoughts began to realign, staring at the monster which lay across the lake in a disheveled pile, unmoving, noting the disappearance of the water and the land around the lake that had been completely destroyed, as if a hurricane had passed through and he'd simply fallen asleep to wait it out. His pattern of thoughts—_remembrance_—that followed was odd but not at all discreditable.

_I was fishing. The water is gone now and my monster is dead. I passed out because…I was in the water. It was freezing and…a storm has been through here…no, not a storm, nothing could drain the water like this…it's abnormal…like God was trying to blow a speck off the face of the earth and…and he blew too hard…he screamed instead…oh my god, I heard a scream. Not God's scream but a ghost's…It was the Ghostly Wail…Danny...!_

He turned his head abruptly to where Danny lay at his right, resting on his back, his arms and legs spread wide as if he was offering himself up, panting loudly with his tongue hanging out slightly.

"_Danny_!" he screamed without pause, and tackled the boy, pulling him into his strong arms without an ounce of hesitation.

Danny gave a small cry of surprise, for he was, much like Vlad had been, stunned into a hazy, dream-like state induced by his own exhaustion. When he came back to his senses he found himself being squeezed so tightly he thought his eyeballs might pop from his skull like a squishy-toy you could buy at the dollar store. Vlad was shaking him and twisting him in an awkward gesture, as if attempting to spin him like a father does when reuniting with his children after they are apart for much too long…and it made sense.

"Oh, Danny!" Vlad cried helplessly, repeatedly as if someone had paid him to, holding the boy to his chest and burying his head into the Danny's greasy white hair. "Danny! Oh, Danny!"

At hearing the man's voice, Danny Phantom began to weep, and while it was of sadness, it was also of comfort, too.

* * *

><p>AN:

There, Danny and Vlad are reunited. Can I have some reviews now, PLEASE?

By the way, I am converting over to DannyPhantomism, meaning from now on I'm going by DM/P (bet you can't guess what that means?) instead of my usual VC. I feel like I'm being reborn as we speak, as I let go of my sick obsession to that...other thing...and cross over into the beauty that is DP.

So the good news, now my stories are going to be updated twice as much and with more heart. (Can't you see a difference already?) SO GOSHDARN REVIEW!

Also: Danny's Ghostly Wail is probably the sexiest thing this earth has ever seen.

~DM/P


	29. Chapter 29

The white-haired boy was weeping into the man's soft chest, his hands gripping the black coat he wore in a hungry, dejected manner, the unmanicured nails digging unconsciously into the fabric and the skin beneath, and despite how agonizing this was, Vlad Masters did not care. Rather, the new life he found in Danny Phantom seemed like an endorphin—numbing the pain that shot out from each finger like the roots of a tree, for he had, of course, previously thought the boy for dead.

It had never been that superstitious type of reassurance, in which one knows that they will succeed in the end but fear that they might instill poor luck in themselves if they go about believing this, and so they will tell themselves otherwise; it had been a very earnest belief, one that was not skewed by the childish comfort that everything would be okay, because when it came to the man by the name of Vlad Masters, _nothing _ever turned out _okay_, as he'd come to learn throughout the pathetic amble through a confusing tangle of dark woods that was his life.

And while he'd thought his struggle between worlds to be entirely futile, he felt he could not live with himself knowing he'd let the boy who'd finally turned to him for guidance as he'd always dreamed die without at least _trying_ to save him. When the boy died, Vlad had silently realized, he would look down at him from whatever region beyond the world of the living lie and feel betrayed, as though he'd been right all along in his assumption that Vlad Plasmius was an enemy he could not trust, or perhaps the boy would sit there wishing he'd turned elsewhere for help. Whatever he did, Daniel would not be pleased with him, and Vlad was intent on avoiding this, even if he might never see the boy again after he passed away and wouldn't, in reality, ever know his reflections of that fateful night years ago when he submitted to him for assistance only to be turned away.

But he _hadn't _died, and Vlad was thankful to have dodged that unsettling mindset that the dead is overly disappointed, so much so that they cannot rest, and the fault lies solely on the person who is left alive. He was so gracious that he would not have to sit and ponder endlessly, "What could I have done to save them?" or "What can I do to appease them now?"

Instead, Vlad Masters was left with the rather pleasant sensation that is achieved when one receives news of something wondrous but truly unexpected, or is rewarded when they are convinced they will be punished. The feeling was new, and rather unsettling, but he could not deny how satisfying it really was.

"Shhhh," the man managed, but he had never felt so completely out of his element. For the first time in his life—or so he liked to believe, because convincing one's self of its strength is enough to keep one going in times of hardship, and hardship his life had been—he was unable to control the emotions that painted his face brightly, that tugged at his eyes and mouth in an attempt to draw dastardly tears, for laying eyes on Daniel now was perhaps one of the most truly difficult things he'd had to witness, next to the sight of his father as he'd lain in his extra-large coffin, surrounded by wreaths of dark flowers. Unlike his father's funeral, however, there was not that feeling of resentment, and the childish _ha has _that came with it in victory. Of course, nine-year-old Vlad Masters had loved his father, but he could not help but feeling free as he stared at the man as he lay in his coffin, peacefully resting. It had so bizarrely crossed his mind several times that he'd won something against the man, as it must one after they've defeated their greatest enemy in a long, seemingly-endless battle and stand over the remains in triumph…but all the while admiring the dead for their courage, or something of that nature. And perhaps this quote, unquote hatred for the man made the funeral in all its glory so unbelievably sad, because he was torn, really…but compared to _this_, this feeling of pure agony—not a trace of bitterness in the least—for the crying boy curled in his lap, his father's funeral may as well have been a day at the football game—a game in which the Packers won this or that to zero against the Vikings. In fact, Vlad Masters did not think he'd ever felt such pain for someone other than himself, not even his abused mother, who cooked and cleaned and stripped herself for his father but was still beaten daily by his favorite strip of leather. But perhaps this was understandable, because _understand _he could, for the man knew the meaning of betrayal all too well—it seemed that was, in all truth, the definition of his life.

On the day of that fateful accident in the lab with Maddie and Jack, a young Vlad Masters had torn out of the room and across the campus of the university, his face in his hands. Though none of them knew what the reason for his hasty retreat, his classmates found it amusing. One of them, a football player who did not particularly care for the scraggly little fool who paraded around the campus spewing talk of a ghost portal without cease, stuck out his foot and tripped him. He fell, and his hands dropped from the smoking entanglement of flesh that was his face. Like something of a nightmare, they surrounded him and laughed; weak then, he pulled his knees to his chest and backed into a corner in that classic pose of the traumatized until they seemed to tire of laughing at him and assaulting him with their cruel remarks—"Looks like that portal didn't go too well after all!"—and left.

He'd made his way to his car, taking extreme care to stay hidden, and had driven to his mother's house about twenty minutes away, cringing away from the accusing faces glaring in through the windows of his car when he stopped at the stoplights, drenched in untold amounts of perspiration, the pain in his face so incredible he thought he would faint. When he arrived, she was sitting at the retro-table she'd taken from their old house in New York after her husband had died, painting, as she did in order to support herself because her frail condition would not allow her to work manually. When she looked up and saw him, her eyes widened.

"Vlad!" she cried, standing immediately with such haste that she spilled one of her jars of paint and it spilled onto the portrait of the man and his child who sat across from her in two matching chairs. They looked up, startled, and when their eyes fell upon Vlad Masters, the man gasped, grabbed his daughter, and fled so quickly that one of the chairs was overturned in the process. The sound of the front door being opened and closed resonated and the two were left in the kitchen, Vlad slumped over dejectedly, his mother's delicate but wrinkled hands held up slightly, as if in question whether to assist him or to defend against him.

"Vlad, what _happened_?" his mother gasped after a long, painful moment of regarding him with wide, fearful eyes, her pale lips agape.

"The portal…Jack…" was all the young man could manage to croak out, and weakly reached out to her for assistance.

As she went to take his hand, it disappeared, and the shriek that the small woman released could be described as being only slightly less painful than what she did next.

Pulling her hand back, she instead took the long wooden handle of a thick broom and held it out to him defensively as she began to shrink away, her body quivering with such violence that it would appear she were buried alive by snow.

"Stay back!" she had shrieked, swinging the broom at him once or twice in warning as he tried to approach her. "Don't come near me!"

"Mom!" he cried, ducking weakly to avoid the fury of the wooden weapon. "It's me! Your _son_!"

"You are _not my son_! You are an abomination!" she screeched at him, and hit him in the stomach with the broom with such force he could momentarily no longer breathe.

"Mom," he tried weakly, clutching his stomach in an attempt to ease the pain that came in one thick and long, burning line of disrupted flesh. At least, he remembered thinking, his face didn't feel so terrible then.

"Get _OUT_!" she hollered with a conviction he'd never heard possess her voice before that night, and began throwing the knick-knacks she kept nestled on a shelf conveniently hanging behind her at him. A small ceramic penguin collided with his ruptured forehead and shattered, and he shrieked in agony.

His hands—now both visible again—shot up to hold this area as he began to stagger away from her, but she continued tossing objects his way; a candle in a ceramic flowered holder, a china plate, and worst of all—what had been his mother's ultimate betrayal—a handprint he'd made her when he was in fifth grade and had given to her on Mother's Day. At this, the distraught young man tore from the room and out of the house.

Of course the pain he felt for Daniel was understandable; the boy had gone through the same excruciating process of being betrayed by those who had assured him time and time again they loved him as he. And at the memory of his mother—particularly the cement handprint flying at him—and the idea that this poor boy could have gone through that same emotional torment—and at such a young age—Vlad Masters began to weep softly, just as Danny, because he despite the fact he wanted to remain strong, his tears were _stronger_.

"Oh, Danny," Vlad said, pulling the boy closer, burying his head into the soft white tresses and nuzzling in what was perhaps the most affectionate gesture he'd given in over twenty-five years, observing distantly as his tears beaded on the greasy locks of hair. "Oh, Danny, it's all right. It's all right. I know how you feel."

The boy sobbed more loudly and drew himself closer in this, his all-time weakestmoment when it came to the expressing of emotions in the presence of Vlad Masters. His fingers tightened considerably as he moaned into the man's chest, "I'm sorry! I'm s-sorry, Vlad! I'm sorry!"

Vlad pulled back slightly and briefly touched his muzzle to the boy's face to quiet him, although somewhere inside him—although lost in sympathy—he was particularly pleased with the boy's desperate pleas, and resisting the urge to scream, "I told you so! I told you so!" despite the fact that he was relatively unsure what the boy was apologizing for, exactly, so he said instead, "Oh, little badger, it's all right. Of course it is."

"You were right!" the boy screamed, his body jerking slightly. "You've been right all along!"

_Ah, there it is_, that little devil piped inside him as it struggled to stay afloat in the lake of sympathy that had formed for Danny. _I like that. Say it again._

"That doesn't matter, Danny," he said, although it did…or _would_, later during periods of reflection. "All that matters is that you're all right."

"But you were—"

"Quiet," Vlad said, his tears mercifully slowing as something else chimed in as well, and this thing was the little devil that longed for control of all situations in which it was involved, and it seemed to recognize that weeping hysterically was certainly _not_ being in control. "All that matters is that you're safe."

"I'm sorry," the boy said again, as if these two words were some key that would unlock the room to comfort. "I'm sorry."

"_Quiet_," Vlad said sternly, his tears now evaporated to small pools in his eyes, but he was stroking the boy's hair soothingly. "You shouldn't be sorry. You had no reason to trust what I said—I understand that. But you need to trust now that I'm going to do what is best for you. Can you do that?"

The boy nodded silently against his chest, wanting to appease his command for silence.

_That's what I like to see! _Devil One said easily, grinning as it floated effortlessly now on the lake of his sympathy. _He's finally seeing things our way!_

_And we're in control_, Devil Two added. _As we should be._

But the part of Vlad Masters that knew better replied, _Oh, but it never is that easy. _


	30. Chapter 30

A/N:

So, as you can tell, it has been a long while since I've updated. I will be honest with you, I am losing hope for this story, because I continue to struggle in writing it and it isn't as enjoyable as it used to be. This will most likely be one of the last chapters. I apologize sincerely.

~VC

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><p>"Johanna, huh?" Jack replied after a moment of regarding her with eyes that gleamed threateningly in the darkness of the lab, like the eyes of the wolves that had mauled his tired son as he lay helplessly in the woods, and in a moment of horrifying clarity Dani could see the unshaven man for the monster he truly was instead of the loving man he was <em>supposed<em> to be; his face seemed to morph into that of a werewolf, black fur sprouting at an incredible rate on the landscape of his face, his yellow teeth, dirtied from years of gorging endlessly on sweets, suddenly sharpened and bared hatefully. This image, presented to her as if on a silver screen, and all the thoughts it evoked in the depths of her mind caused her to recoil and press herself against the counter that sat behind her, sure the man would pounce on her and consume the skin of her face. Dani was the type of person who cannot stand to sit through a movie in which things are flying at you, who will flinch when someone throws pretend punches in your direction in hopes of receiving this satisfying reaction, and she became particularly uneasy as someone with a face as frightening as Jack Fenton's stared into her eyes, convinced their intent was ill and she would end up lying lifeless in a gutter somewhere in the next town over…and looking at Jack now, she saw that he would have cared for nothing greater—his eyes were _hungry_, and she thought she would wet her pants.

"I've never seen you around," he continued, his face like that of the Bad Cop, the eyes cold and questioning and without desire to see their man as anything other than a disgusting pig for what he was done, intent on throwing him in a cell to end their prolonged game of finding the culprit no matter his innocence.

"How do you know Jasmine?" Maddie Fenton spoke suddenly, and similarly, the expression she'd dawned resembled her husband's; her eyes were calculating and stared icily down at the pre-adolescent girl on whose throat she pressed her Fenton machete—in reality, that gaze could have turned Dani to stone, and she didn't think she'd ever been so terrified in her life, so much so that she _longed _to be captured by Vlad, for at least he would finish her quickly and humanely if that was his purpose, but if she was really lucky he would stabilize her remains which had, as if by some miracle, managed to stay whole throughout the entirety of her encounter with the Fenton's. The blade was pushed further into the skin of her neck, but not forcefully so as to draw blood, although Dani could not help but feel that this would not, sadly, remain constant—that was, if she would leave at all, she would leave with a slice in her throat deep enough to draw blood and endless fear but too shallow to mince in the meat-grinder and bake into a pie.

There was a moment in which Dani's racing mind paused in a feeble attempt to comprehend this; although she had anticipated questions upon being asked what her name was, she had prepared no answers, and her mind was left shrugging dumbly and apologetically, knowing it had done her wrong but too engulfed in the newly-instilled fear that had overtaken it to make it its problem. Of course, she could recognize that it would not be wise to say something like, "Well, I'm Danny's half-ghost cousin. I was made in a lab and he saved me so now we're besties" but she was relatively clueless as to what could be said to _save _herself, because she was also able to recognize that her position was less than ideal; in reality, why should she have expected the Fenton's to be anything _other _than skeptical as a strange girl, one they had never seen prior, appears at their doorstep in the time of their son's coming out of the closet, of sorts? If she had been in their position, would she not have been unconvinced as well? This answer will never remain constant, because the mind will lie to itself when desperation or self-satisfaction is domineering, but Dani Phantom was certain that she would, too, view the intruder with the eyes of a bitter, retired prison guard who has had an encounter that led him to the loss of a limb, or several.

Once, in the first week of her unintentional life, she had gotten Vlad Masters to give her a kitten after he'd refused her the right to touch his Maddie, a white Tabby cat with stunning green eyes. While she had whipped out her newly perfected, you-can't-resist-this-face expression, what she believed had truly done it was her ceaseless nagging until the man, who had been preoccupied in the lab with the good clone—but she hadn't known that then, of course—could not focus on his work and had been forced to give her the time of day. He found her a scruffy white Persian roaming the streets within five minutes of searching, brought it back to his home, cleaned it up, plunked it down in front of her, and resumed his work. (Later, this cat would become the new Maddie after the Tabby was hit by some drunken kids from the farm down the road of his castle in their pick-up truck [who had not escaped unscathed, it should be noted, because that night Vlad appeared on their front porch with a double-barrel shotgun in hand]). And while her success in this had instilled her with the idea that she could achieve anything she wanted by whining, as most children whose parents give in quickly are, she could recognize now that she could not bleat her way out of this terrible situation she'd unwillingly gotten herself into—rather, she would need to use what her cousin had used time and time again on these people who had birthed him but were never his _parents_: tact.

How would she do this? Dani Phantom did not know, because it was not in her nature to approach any situation with qualities that were careful and chosen well. Rather, she cared to wing things and see how they turned out, and little did she connect any in depth thoughts to her actions. But now she could see that there was no room for error in a situation like this—hell, there was a _knife _pressed to her throat, and one wrong move would land her in the belly of some unsuspecting customer who craved Mrs. Fenton's pies. However, responding with tact would mean responding in _time_, and the Fenton's were impatient; she could not formulate the words that were meant to save her because she could not see them in her brain, now dead as if it had been penetrated by a bullet.

Maddie had begun to say something again—"_Answer_ me, Johanna"—and as Dani had expected, began to press the knife further into her neck, and she became aware quickly that doing so was similar to applying pressure to a water-balloon—soon it would pop and release its fluids. Vaguely, she thought, her mind racing and tugging her attention in all directions, _I'm going to die. I'm going to die tonight._

Jazz suddenly said, clearly sensing Dani's distress, drawing herself back into the horrid scene with unwise nobility, "She's one of the kids from the school, mom." Her voice was unsteady and it was clearly apparent that she was struggling to contain tears.

Maddie turned from the quivering girl then, and the knife was miraculously lifted from her throat; air flooded her, and she unconsciously drew her arm up to rub her scathed throat, which was whole, and incredibly so. Her celebration was short-lived, however, because now the machete was pointed at Jazz, and Maddie's boots clicked as she took a small step towards her trembling daughter.

"Did I ask for your input, Jasmine?" she said, and in her eyes Dani saw a fire, one fueled solely by undiluted throngs of hatred, burning in her lilac eyes. Her teeth were drawn up in a hateful snarl, and in the dim light of the lab her ungodly white teeth glinted. "Did I ask?"

Jazz had begun to say something, something of a placating nature, but Maddie Fenton would not hear it. Simply, she took the girl up by a handful of carrot hair and made a small cut in the back of her exposed neck. As the young woman shrieked in uncompromised pain and untold troves of fear, Dani Phantom suddenly became instilled with the knowledge that had been suppressed by her own terror but had, by no means, left—she had ghost powers.


End file.
